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starkeynation · 1 day ago

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I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

#drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe angst #angst #angst with a sad ending #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe fic #Spotify

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eiralunaire · 2 days ago

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Damian gently laid you down on the couch, his movements calculated but charged with a palpable intensity. He stared at you for a moment, as if he wanted to etch every detail of this moment into his memory. The fire in the fireplace cast dancing shadows across his features, accentuating the hardness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper that reverberated in the space between you.

“I want it,” you replied, your voice barely audible but firm.

His lips met yours again, this time with a mix of tenderness and urgency that made the air around you feel thicker. His hands, warm and firm, moved slowly from your face to your sides, running over your body with an adoration that left you breathless.

Damian was meticulous, as if each caress was designed to draw sighs from you and make you forget the outside world. His body, trained and hardened by years of combat, moved with an unexpected delicacy, as if he were afraid of breaking something precious.

“I never thought I would need this, that I would need you like this,” he confessed as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that ignited every fiber of your being.

“Damian,” you whispered his name, a mix of pleading and emotion that seemed to turn him on even more.

He paused for a moment, his green eyes searching yours, as if he wanted to make sure you were completely with him in this moment.

“This isn’t just one night for me,” he said in a grave tone, his sincerity piercing you like an arrow straight to the heart. “You’re all I want, all I ever wanted.”

The words left a lump in your throat, and all you could do was raise a hand to touch his face, gently tracing the line of his jaw.

“I’m not here for just one night, Damian,” you replied with the same intensity. “I’m here to stay, if you let me.”

The emotion on his face was indescribable. Without another word, he caught you again in a kiss that spoke of silent promises and deep feelings, letting the rest of the night become an exchange of emotions that had been contained for too long.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, the rain gently tapped the windows, and in that instant, the outside world ceased to exist. Only the two of you remained, giving yourselves over to the discovery of something you both knew you couldn’t, nor wanted to, stop.

His hands slid down your body, touching you as if he wanted to memorize every curve, every detail. His movements were precise, but there was also an air of desperation, as if he feared this moment might disappear.

The heat between you intensified, and the atmosphere grew heavier, more charged. Every caress, every kiss, ignited a spark that threatened to turn into an uncontrollable fire. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and small bites that sent shivers down your spine.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and full of desire.

“Don’t,” you replied without hesitation, your hands clinging to him as if you wanted to make sure he didn’t pull away.

Damian responded with a low growl, a mix of satisfaction and need, as he lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards his room. His movements were fluid, as if each step was charged with clear intention.

The room was dark, but the soft light from the rain falling outside illuminated his features as he gently placed you on the bed. He stood for a moment, looking at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, even when I didn’t know I did,” he said as he leaned into you, his voice heavy with promise and emotion.

That night, Damian wasn’t the relentless warrior, nor the disciplined Robin. With you, he was just a man giving himself completely to the moment, letting emotions and desire consume him.

Part One, part Two

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #dcu #dc comics

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mj0702 · 4 hours ago

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What could've been

So this is a small one shot about BB not getting injured and how I imagined it would've gone... I hope you enjoy it and if you have any questions feel free to ask me anytime – it might take me a day or two to reply but please feel free to send in your asks

Lucy knew you would be the greatest player that ever set a foot on the pitch. She watched you grow up training with her. You could barely hold your balance but you were able to kick a ball. Lucy immediately saw the potential you had. You were a rough diamond. Every time you saw a ball you toddled over as quickly as you could falling over three or more times before getting there but the moment you were close enough you just kicked it away laughing happily toddling after it again. Your sister watched with pride how you developed through your kid years until City picked up on your talent. You were just short of your sixth birthday when City asked Lucy for a meeting. They told her they saw you kicking about with her after a game and kept an eye on you and they were very happy with what they saw. Your sister agreed quickly to bring you in one day for a trail training day. So you were 5 Years, 354 days and 7 hours old when Lucy pulled your first City jersey over your head. Even tho it was just a trainings jersey and it was two sizes too big for your small frame you and her sported the same proud look. Hers was more noticeable than yours but you copied her anyway. The girls you had to play with were older and bigger than you so your first session didn't go as well as Lucy hoped. You got pushed around a lot. Your body more on the ground than not and at one point your sister thought about pulling you out but Trainer told her to leave it. She was right – every time you got pushed over you stood back up running after the ball. You were a true Bronze. Competitive to no end. Tough – not only was it your name it was also your personality. One of the girls tackled you hard and it took you a moment longer to get up Lucy already on her way over when your new trainer stopped her

“You're worse than any soccer mom” your trainer rolled her eyes pulling Lucy back by her jacket

“That little.... girl... fouled my sister... hard... that should've been a yellow” your sister gestured upset towards the field

“We don't have cards here” Linda deadpanned

“Well... then start using them” Lucy said upset “... they have to learn at some point... start young... so they know what's going on”

“Lucy... I understand you're nervous...” your trainer started

“I'm not nervous” your sister interrupted defensive

“You are a wreck...” Linda rolled her eyes again “.... your sister is good... by far better than anyone I've seen so far... she'll come far... but you have to let her do it herself...”

“That's my baby sister out there” Lucy growled “... I will make sure that little.... …. girl.... won't ever set foot on a pitch again if she fouls my sister again”

“Well... that's not how it works around here” your trainer said calm “... stop being overbearing... y/n will learn to deal with fouls”

Spoiler alert – Lucy and you both dealt with fouls the same... not well at all. You were always the first in a Refs face while your sister preferred to get into players faces.

With 12 you were invited to train with the senior squad the first time. Again Lucy was proud her chest puffed out when her trainer informed her that you would join the squad next week to see how you could keep up. You whined the whole way home to Keira to keep Lucy in check because your sister was so embarrassing. Keira just chuckled and promised to do her best but you both knew that it was useless. Just like the first time your sister pulled your first senior jersey over your head smiling widely.

“Luuuuccyyyy” you whined ashamed

“What...” Lucy asked pulling the jersey over your head “... we have to keep the tradition going”

“I'm old enough to dress meself....” you tried to push her away but it was no use

“It's tradition...” your sister grumbled as she tried to duck away from flailing arms

“You can't keep doing that” you whined again “... it's embarrassing”

“I don't care...” Lucy huffed grabbing your arm trying to get it through the sleeve

“Lucyyy...” you whined pulling against her grip

“Stop it...” your sister grumbled

“Keiraaaaaa....” you cried out for help only get met with an amused looking face from your sister girlfriend

“Sorry Bits...” Keira smirked “... she told me she will do it no matter what and I sat the stakes high...”

“I'm abstaining something very important for you....” Lucy mumbled as she finally got you into the trainings shirt

“Jesus...” you groaned “... why would you tell me stuff like that?!”

“Because I love you” your sister grinned “... now come on... show em how good you are”

You were 15 years, 300 days and 15 hours old when you played your first WSL game. It was against Brighton and you came on for Alex Greenwood who looked like a proud mother when she jogged over sending you into your first game in the 73rd minute. Lucy made Alana swap positions so she was standing next to you playing centre back instead of right back and you realized pretty quickly that first – Lucy was shit as a centre back and secondly... you weren't a defender. Your runs pushed high into the midfield and together with Keira you created chance after chance for Hempo, White and Raso. Even for Georgia – the new girl. She was nice but you couldn't really say anything else about her. Except for that she idolizes your sister and tried to copy her as good as possible which you found weird. It was just Lucy... if that girl wanted to idolize someone, she should pick someone good and famous – like... Rapinoe, Sinclair, Renard or Marta. But not Lucy.

“Come on Bubs...” you heard Lucy yell “... head in the game!”

“I'm right next to you you daft goldfish” you shot back pulling a face

“Concentrate” your sister sneered

“We're up 4 – 0.... I could start my French lesson with Kari and it wouldn't make any difference” you started to argue and your sister saw you were bored out of your mind

“It's disrespectful” Lucy said now calmly “... I know you want the big games but you also need the experience first”

“Against Brighton??” you looked at her confused “... if I score a goal from here... can I play against Atletico?”

“No....” your sister shot down your idea “... you'll train and you'll learn and get minutes and experience and THEN you'll get minutes in the big games”

“Keira” you whined stomping your foot

“Kinda busy here Bits” Keira huffed trying to get the ball of an opponent player so you just sprinted towards them getting possession and just belted it away

“Now you’re not...” you said as a matter of fact “... Lucy is mean and I'm bored”

“Bitsy....” your “other mom” looked at you with a blank face “... you just scored”

“Yes, I know...” you shrugged your shoulders “... their defence was off the whole game... there was always enough space between the near post and the backline”

“YOU SCORED!!!” Georgia screamed as she jumped on your back

“And you get off me” you immediately threw her off again “... jumping on me back without knowing me... didn't your parents teach you any manners??”

“Sorry” Georgia mumbled looking like a kicked puppy

“Don't take it personal G...” Keira laughed “... she's grumpy because Lucy apparently said something she didn't like”

“I just thought it was a good goal” the young player mumbled ashamed

“Oh it was... but Bitsy is... special... right now that goal doesn't mean shit to her... she's hung up on her argument with her sister...” Keira squeezed her friends shoulder “... you'll learn that these two are different than other siblings”

“Great goal Bubs” Lucy ruffled your hair smiling “... you still won't start Atletico”

“You suck” you snapped stomping back to your position “... and you suck as a centre back!!”

“One day she'll play for the biggest clubs” your sister looked after you grinning widely

Lucy leaving for Lyon was hard on you. You got used to her presence on the pitch behind you. You got used to her having your back always offering you a hand pulling you back up when you ate grass again. Always being there when you stayed down a second too long. So her moving to France was hard. You understood – kinda. It was good for her career but not good for your head. Keira did what she could to maintain your daily routine as good as possible but alone the drive to the Academy send you into a frenzy most days. Nick noticed your play was off so he put you back on the bench at first and then back into the B-Team. This set you off even more up to the point where you got physically sick every time you needed to go to training. Keira gave Lucy regular updates even telling her that it got worse with you and she didn't know what to do anymore. Your sister your saviour and protector came back to Manchester the first chance she got with the plan to slap some sense into you but when she saw you like a heap of misery hunched over on the couch all her aggression about you throwing away a big chance like this flew out the window

“Bubs...” Lucy said softly not wanting to scare you

“Hm...” you looked up your eyes dull

“Oh Bubs...” your sister sighed pulling you up and against her holding you tightly “... what were you thinking Bubs?”

“You just left” you mumbled emotionless against her shoulder not hugging her back

“We talked about it Bubs...” Lucy kept her voice low “... you're all grown up now and you don't need me anymore...”

“I don't want you to leave” you started to sniffle

“It's okay Bubs...” your sister pressed a kiss to your temple “... I've got a few days off now...”

“Not days Luce...” you were silently crying now “... not leaving”

“It's my job Bubs... you'll understand one day” Lucy sighed noticing how light you became “... we'll get you back on track and then you'll join me in Lyon okay”

“Don't wanna go there” you sniffed

“It's amazing there Bubs... they have so many ways to train... you have to see their gym Bubs... it's like the holy grail...” your sister talked while she gently maneuvered you to the kitchen table “but now we'll get some food into you and then we'll get you to bed, hm?”

It took Lucy all of seven days until she got you to eat small portions again. They were small and even when just a bite too much had you sprinting to the toilet again she was happy with her accomplishment. Five small meals a day. That's what you agreed on – breakfast at 8, then at 11 again, Lunch at 1.30, another small meal at 4 and dinner latest at 7.30. Your sister knew how much you needed your daily routines and she drilled it into Keira to keep those routines. As much as Keira tried after Lucy left you fell into old habits again. Skipping meals, training and meetings. The blonde called your sister completely shattered how she can't watch you kill yourself. Again Lucy jumped on a plane flying back to Manchester. This time tho she went to her girlfriend first telling her that she couldn't have done it without her and whatever happened it's not Keiras fault. Keira cried into Lucys broad shoulder and in the end Lucy stayed the night reassuring her girlfriend over and over again how good she was. The next morning when your sister entered your home you were already gone and much to her annoyance nobody knew where to. It was late at night when Lucy heard the keys open the front door and you entered the house

“Nice for you to join us for Dinner” your sister deadpanned

“What... Mum and Dad called the cavalry to slap some sense into me?” you shot back your voice just as emotionless

“It was actually Keira...” Lucy kept her voice flat

“Hm.... the girlfriend” you hummed finally pulling your shoes off

“What happened to you?” your sister asked bluntly

“I'm growing up Luce... it happens to the best of us” you shrugged wandering over to the fridge looking inside to see your mother left you dinner but you weren't hungry so you just closed the door again

“You are doing fuck all” finally Lucy showed some emotion “... you're killing yourself”

“And in what universe do you care?” you shot back your voice getting louder as well

“That's not fair y/n... you KNOW I care...” your sister getting loud now too “... what the hell is going on with you lately?”

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes pushing past Lucy

“Oh no...” Lucy panted out a laugh “... you are NOT running from me”

“Fuck off Lucy” you sneered as your sister tried to grab your wrist

“Y/n Tough Bronze...” your sister sneered back just as hostile “... tell me NOW what's going on with you?”

“You don't care anyway... go back to France and leave me the fuck alone” you were now full on yelling turning to leave again

“You don't talk to me like that” Lucy yelled following you up the stairs

“What is going on here? It's past midnight” your mum appeared on the hallway

“She wouldn't leave me alone” you exclaimed upset pointing at Lucy

“She JUST came home Mum...” your sister explained “... I just want to know what's going on with her”

“Can you please yell at each other quieter?” your Mum rolled her eyes getting reminded at the situations she already lived through with Lucy and Sophie

“She can just leave me alone and I wouldn't have to say anything at all” you growled shoving Lucy hard who now stood next to you

“Just talk to me” Lucy begged “... I just want to help you”

“THEN GO BACK TO FRANCE AND FUCK OFF.....” you exploded “.... AND WHEN YOU'RE AT IT – PLEASE CRASH ON THE WAY THERE!!!”

Lucy and your Mum stood there frozen as you threw the door shut so hard that two pictures fell off the wall

“Bubs...” your sister looked at the closed door tears pooling in her eyes

“Lucy...” your Mum said softly “... she doesn't mean it... I promise... she's just going through a lot right now...”

“Why does she hate me?” Lucy asked her voice breaking

“She doesn't.... she's a teenager Lucy...” your Mum pulled her eldest daughter into a hug “... there's a lot of change going on lately and you know never was good with changes... Go to bed Love... try again later”

“I don't have time Mum...” your sister cried into her mothers shoulder “... I need to go back tonight”

“You'll find a way Lucy” your Mum kept her voice gentle “... you always did”

“Pack a bag” Lucy all but kicked down your door a few hours later

“What?” you asked sleepy not registering what's happening

“Pack... a... bag” your sister repeated while she opened your curtains “... you have an hour.... if you even think of running... I'm still faster then you”

“Go an fuck off Lucia” you now growled throwing the next best thing at her which was a glass that shattered at the wall behind your sister

“You're coming with me to Lyon” Lucy continued not even fazed by your hostile behaviour “... Mum okay-ed it, I can keep an eye on you and I'll make sure you'll be too tired to even think about fucking up”

“You can't just...” you exclaimed shocked

“Oh but I can...” your sister replied calmly “... 58 Minutes... if you're not done, I'll come back up and pull you out of your room meself”

“I hate you!” you yelled after her as she left you alone again

“I don't care” Lucy yelled back smirking to herself

“Welcome to France” your sister sing songed as you exit the plane

“It's dirty and it smells like a trash pit” you grumbled as Lucy threw her arm around your shoulders

“Stop being grumpy” Lucy chuckled

“I still hate you and I still wished we crashed” you growled

“Hm... yeah... sorry I couldn't help you with that...” your sister kept her voice light and her mood calm “... we're gonna pick up your luggage and then we'll drive to me flat... tomorrow at 8 we have to be at the trainings grounds and you'll come with me.... if you don't come willingly I'll force you”

“You can't...” you snapped

“I can... what you wanna do? Run away? Good luck... they don't speak english here... Book a flight back? Good luck again... you don't have the money and on top you need to be accompanied by an adult...” Lucy gave you a reality check “... oh an the longer you decide to be all twaty the longer you'll stay with me and train here...”

“First chance I get I'll end your career” you growl helplessly

“Come on Bubs...” Lucy yelled from behind you “... keep an eye on the other right winger”

“Well... for what are you there?” you turned around frustrated as Eugénie Le Sommer took the ball off you again

“To get you back in line” your sister smirked and you used a stray ball to belt it towards her missing her by inches

“Tu vas mieux” Wendi smiled ruffling your hair

“No idea what you said but... tu es nul aussi” you shrugged your shoulders making all the French players burst out laughing

“You getting gooder” Wendi laughed

“Gooder is not a word... frog leg” you grumbled

“Lucy... dis-lui qu'elle va bien” Eugénie laughed

“They say you're getting better Bubs...” Lucy smiled her chest puffed out proudly

“They could also learn english... no one speaks French in the world... everyone speaks english...” you grumbled as you started to dribble a little bit

“Stop being so grumpy all the time... they were nice enough to let me bring you here” your sister groaned

“Yeah well... I'm not here by choice” you huffed picking up with your foot volleying it towards the goal

“Bubs please...” Lucy rolled her eyes still haven't figured out what was going on with you

“Please what?” you snapped watching the ball hitting the back off the net

“Just talk to me” your sister said and everyone around slowly but surely stepped back giving you two some space

“What you wanna hear? How alone I felt when you left? How suddenly it wasn't fun anymore to play? How the whole team sucked when you weren't standing behind me anymore? How it feels to hear “... Lucy would do it this way... Lucy would've cleared that ball easily... Lucy was more alert... Lucy Lucy Lucy” all the damn time? How nothing made sense anymore?” it exploded out of you

“Breath” was everything Lucy said fixing you with a stare her hands grabbing your shoulders “Breath Bubs...”

You didn't even realize that you stopped breathing – you just had to get if off your chest. So when Lucy grabbed your shoulders you just shook your head not knowing how to react. Your sister sprang into action shaking you a little bit

“Breath” Lucy said firmly seeing how your face lost colour “Damnit BREATH Bubs”

THAT did the trick and you sucked in a deep breath

“Good... good Bubs” your sister said relieved “... another one... perfect... come on... deep breaths”

“I don't wanna play anymore” you whispered tears springing to your eyes

“If you really don't want to play anymore that's okay Bubs” Lucy pulled you against her hugging you tightly “... it would be a great loss for the football world but it would be okay”

“I don't want to play without you anymore” you started crying your sobs wrecking through your body

“I need to at the moment...” your sister whispered against your hair “... I want to play against you in the Champions League...”

“I don't want to play against you” you sobbed grabbing onto Lucys trainings shirt tightly

“You scared you'll lose?” Lucy chuckled “If you don't want to Bubs you don't have to... but you're so good... it would really be a loss to football”

“Can't I just play here with you?” you sniffed

“No...” your sister said gently “... City needs you... England needs you... KEIRA needs you”

“Keira has a new BFF... her names Georgia... strange girl” you hick uped

“She still needs her Bitsy more than you realize” Lucy kept her voice soft “... you're the only Bronze she has left... the other Bronze”

“I need you back home Lucy” you mumbled against her shoulder

“I'll be back for Camp soon...” your sister kissed your forehead “... I need you to get your shit together by then okay”

“Not for Camp Luce...” you looked at her your eyes red and puffy “... for forever”

“Soon Bubs... I promise” Lucy kissed your forehead again

“Don't be nervous Bits” Keira mumbled standing behind you in the tunnel

“How couldn't I be? I'm 15 and playing Champions League...” you mumbled back your whole body vibrating

“You are the best out there...” the blonde put her hand on your shoulder trying to ground you

“It's Lucy we're playing against” you took a shaky breath

“As soon as you step on that pitch she's not Lucy... she's the opponent you need to beat” Keira said her voice low knowing just how hard it was to convince yourself

“As if you could..” you started

“I have to... it's Champions League.. even to we'll get another chance I don't want to travel to Lyon having to chase down goals to get those three points”

“Got it... go out... tank them over Manc style” you mumble to yourself

“Exactly... show the world that you are the better Bronze Bitsy” Keira smiled seeing how your whole presence changed into game mode

“Come on Ref!!” you yelled upset as you picked yourself up again being the main target of Lyon “Can you PLEASE for the love of the Lord and Baby Jesus do your job??”

“Bitsy” Keira quickly jogged over pulling you back “... calm down... don't let them get to you”

“Easy for you to say... I was more on the ground that I was playing” you grumbled brushing some grass of your shorts

“Then use your brain to find a solution...” the blonde pressed a quick kiss to your temple and suddenly you had an idea and you quickly turned around

“Beattie” you yelled out running over to the Scott

“What you need F'anwylyd?” the Scott looks surprised

“Switch with me” you mumbled quickly so no one could hear you

“Scuse me?” the older player looked confused

“You go into midfield I hang back” you pressed knowing the whistle would holler any second

“Why?” Jennifer asked even more confused

“They're targeting me... when I'm in defence they don't have as much space but you'll have more space to move and get a play going” you explained pushing the Scott forward as the whistle was blown

“Good move Bubs” Lucy hugged you sideways as she walked next to you into the tunnel for half time

“Are you even allowed to speak to me?” you grumbled

“Just made you a compliment” your sister pulled a face at your mood

“Bronze...” you heard Keira holler and both of you looked up “... leave me teammate and go eat some frog legs”

“Uh... someone fucked up” you snickered seeing how Lucys face fell

“I'll unfuck it later” Lucy pushed you towards Keira offering a small smile which Keira mirrored

“I can't believe you scored that banger” Keira laughed loudly as you got bulldozed over by your teammates

You scored... at a Champions League game... at home... against Lyon... from the box – not Lyons box... your box. It was the last minute of the game and Karen told you to just belt it out of her box after there was a ruffle just in front of her goal and she lost sight of the ball for a split second. Lyon threw everything at City and you did what you've been told. Somehow the ball fell right in front of your feet and Karen yelled at you and so you just swung your leg back to then kick the ball full force down the field. Everyone followed the ball some in shock some in awe as the ball sailed down the pitch towards the opposite goal. Pauline was way off her line and when she saw which direction the ball went she sprinted back but came to late. The ball hit the back of the net as she just raced into her own box.

“I can't believe it either...” you shook your head “... Stanway get off me you pillock”

“You just scored the game winning goal” Georgia laughed loudly NOT getting off your back while Tooney decided to jump on your front

“That was a true Bronze goal” your best friend yelled her fist raised victoriously “Now no one can stop us lifting that ugly ass trophy”

Turns out someone could stop you – FC Barcelona. You made it to the semi finals when you put a foot on spanish soil. Immediately you decided you didn't like it here. It was warm and humid and warm and more humid and people didn't knew the concept of personal space. Two steps out of the plane you suddenly turned around running straight into Keira

“Woah Bits... where you wanna go?” the blonde asked amused

“Home...” you said courtly “... I don't like it here”

“It's beautiful Bits...” Keira smiled

“It's hot and humid and sticky and sunny and happy and disgusting” you grumbled

“Keep walking” the blonde laughed “... you won't go back home until after the game”

“I swear Kei if I get sunburned or a stroke I'll hold you accountable” you looked darkly at her

“Sure thing Bits...” Keira laughed pushing you forward again

“This is the last time I'll put a foot in that godforsaken country” you grumbled – it was not.

“Gooooood...” you groaned loudly “... I really hate it here”

“Why are you whining so much?” Georgia asked “This is the same facility the best players in the world train”

“Shut up Pillock” you snapped earning a warning look from Keira “It's too hot to move here”

“Our game is at 6.45 tomorrow Bits... it'll be cooler by then” Keira showed mercy and laid a cool towel over your head

“I hope it is... otherwise I'll hurt me ankle during warm up and stay in the air conditioned locker room” you grumble from under your towel

“Oh my god... that's Alexia Putellas and Jenni Hermoso” Tooney suddenly squeaked out seeing the two Barcelona players walking past the window

“Woo-hoo” you deadpanned “Two female people who are able to walk on their own... how special”

“Bitsy” Keira warned you “... stop being a tosser”

“They breath the same air as we... they're not special” you huffed

“You're unbelievable sometimes” the blonde rolled her eyes

“Stanway.... don't let her take the piss outta you” you yelled from the other side of the pitch sprinting after Alexia “.. you pillock!!!”

You were able to clear the ball just as Alexia was about to shoot throwing a dirty look at her AND Georgia

“Can't believe I have to defend too...” you huffed getting back up ignoring the hand Alexia offers you

Even tho the spanish player was a little upset you got the ball out of play before she could shoot she had to admit you were good. Far too good for her liking. So she offered you a hand to pull you back up which you ignored instead of walking past her grumbling under your breath.

“If you stand there any longer Ale you'll get roots” Jenni teased her girlfriend smirking

“This girl is so good... Jenni we need her in Barcelona” the blonde catalan answered watching as you stomped back down the field

“Well... if anyone can convince the high dogs to sign her it's you” the dark haired spaniard smiled “but now... Vamos... game isn't over Capi”

“Vale vale...” Alexia laughed as she saw Ona coming down the side line for the throw in “Keep an eye on her Jenni”

“She's too young for me” Jenni threw back but immediately drifted towards you marking you closely

“Excuse me...” you growled pushing past the large spaniard “... I can't see with your ass in me face”

“Lo siento...” the dark haired one looked perplex “.. no entiendo lo que dijiste”

“Yeah yeah whatever” you rolled your eye and suddenly sprinted forward intercepting the throw in successfully getting the ball back “... learn english if you want to have a conversation”

“This girl is a lot of work” Jenni said slightly out of breath catching up with Alexia at half time

“Tell me about it....” the blonde said “... she's everywhere and sees spaces no one else sees...”

“First time in a long time we really need to work... even Aitana looks lost” Jenni chuckled watching you as you pushed Tooney laughing

“I want her” Alexia simply said

“I feel replaced” the dark haired one looked at her girlfriend with a twinkle in her eye

“She's too young for YOU...” the blonde smirked “... not for me”

“She's not even legal...” Jenni pointed out

“And still she made you sweat” Alexia laughed

“Joder” you heard Alexia swear behind you making you smirk

“You're welcome” you smirked as you turned around already seeing Tooney flying towards you

“BANGER!!!” your best friend yelled as you caught her easily laughing at her antics “... you saw that spaniard... THAT'S how you score Champions League goals... four of you on her and she still scored”

“They don't understand you” you snorted “... you can call them twatheads and they would smile”

“They understood your banger” Tooney smiled as you put her back on the ground “... look at them”

“Don't get sloppy now Toons...” you warned “... they'll throw everything at us... they're not used to losing”

“Let them come...” your best friend matched your competitiveness “... we'll show em how it's done City style”

It was the last minute. The last minute that destroyed your dreams of lifting that “ugly ass” trophy. Of course it was Alexia Putellas from a distance. You saw that Georgia was getting tired and you couldn't blame her. The heat and humidity got to you too. On top of that you had Jenni Hermoso on you CONSTANTLY. That woman was a real pest. You saw how Georgia read Alexias move wrong getting to the right instead of the left leaving the blonde enough space to move around her. You knew that your backline was too far up to get to run into a trap so you mobilized your last power and sprinted down the pitch after Alexia. You tried to clear the ball again but the catalan learned quickly so she just stopped the ball and you slided right past her – and the ball. The second you sprung back up you saw the ball leaving her foot and you knew it was over. Barcelona celebrated that goal like it was the final and when you heard the whistle seconds after it you crouched down your head hung low

“You playing amazing” you heard someone next to you in broken english making you look up

“Not good enough” you sighed

“You making us ...” the woman made a running motion

“Run...” you offered

“Sí... run... you making us run mucho” the blonde smiled friendly

“Don't take offense in that Putellas...” you came back up “... but I really don't want to talk to you right now”

“Maybe... despacio?” Alexia looked lost

“What?” you shook your head confused

“Ehrm... slow?” the catalan asked hopefully

“Slow what?” you tried to make sense out of her

“Talk... slow?” the blonde asked a little insecure

“I no no talk you” you said like you were talking to an idiot underlining your words with gestures

“Por qué?” Alexia asked a little taken aback

“I presume that means why....” you took a breath “... look... I'm warm, sweaty and pissed off... your country is too warm and sunny for me liking... I lost a title in the last minute of the game and it was YOU who made me lose... so I no talking you”

“Eh...” the blonde was truly lost now looking at you like you were a ghost

“Ugh...” you threw your arms up “... KEIRA!!!”

“What's wrong Bits?” Keira came wandering over seeing how frustrated you were

“Make her go away...” you pointed at Alexia

“I taught you manners...” the blonde scolded you seeing how aggressively you pointed at the catalan

“I don't want to talk to her and she doesn't understand it because she's only speaking stupid spaniard” you got even mor frustrated

“Maybe she wants to congratulate you on a really good game?” Keira looked at you expectantly

“If it was a good game we'd be through to the final” you snapped now turning around leaving Keira and Alexia standing next to each other

“I'm sorry” Keira apologized to Alexia

“She good... amazing” the catalan said again not knowing what just happened

“She's hurt” the englishwoman said offering a smile “... but sí... she's amazing”

“I sorry no good ingles” Alexia apologized awkwardly

“No... your english is good...” Keira immediately shot down any insecurities the catalan could have had “... Bitsy is just.. Bitsy”

“You... maybe question her switch?” the catalan asked a little hopefully pulling a little on her jersey

“Of course...” the englishwoman smiled understanding immediately “... give me a minute... BITSY.... get your ass back here”

“NO” you yelled from the other side of the pitch talking to Tooney

“HERE.... NOW!!” Keira yelled and Alexia saw in awe how you start to trot towards Keira

“Alexia wants to swap Jerseys...” the englishwoman said giving you a warning look “... don't you dare throw a fit”

“I don't want her sweat dripping Jersey...” you looked a little disgusted

“Bitsy” Keira slapped the back of your head seeing how Alexias face fell again “If you continue to be a tosser I'll make sure to get that attitude out of you tomorrow morning 4.00”

“Doesn't she have like... a new one...” you asked carefully “... if not there are about a thousands fans here that have her jersey”

“One of the best players in the world wants your Jersey and you complain that it's a little sweaty?” Keira asks shocked

“You know I hate dirty stuff... I can't even put a plate in the sink without going back two minutes later to clean it up” you whine and for the first time Alexia saw you as the person you were

“Bitsy please... it took her a lot to ask so PLEASE....” the englishwoman said now softly knowing NOW where you were coming from

“Can you... new one?” you ask Alexia directly pointing at her jersey

“New one?” the catalan looked confused

“Yes... no sweat” you nodded hoping she understood you

“Sweat?” Alexia asked and you groaned

“Just do it Bits...” Keira nudged you gently

“But it's so sweaty...” you whined but pulled your Jersey over your head offering it to the catalan who quickly did the same with her jersey smiling widely

“You good looking at Blaugrana” Alexia smiled happily as you put her jersey on

“Don't get used to it...” you wave off “... that's gonna be the last time you'll see me wearing that”

It wasn't.

“Welcome back to Barcelona Cariño” Alexia smiled as you got out of the black Cupra

“Look at that... someone knows three more words in english” you grumbled “... for your and everyones Information... I'm not here by choice”

“I studied hard to make you feel more welcome” the catalan kept the smile on her face being told by Lucy before not to give into your current mood

“Yeah well... if your club wouldn't have made me club selling me and I would've had a CHOICE to be here I would feel SO welcomed” you growled keeping your distance to the blonde

“Cari... your club is Barcelona now” the blonde said softly

“It isn't... it'll never be...” you snapped “... I hated it here the last time and this time isn't any different”

“Your sister plays here...” Alexia pointed out “... didn't you want to play with her again? Keira joined too....”

“I got used to play without Lucy...” your voice dripping with venom “... let's get this over with... what do I have to do?”

“I'll show you around a little and then there will be a photoshoot” the blonde sighed seeing in your body language that there will be a lot of fight coming from your end

“Do I have to put on this god awful Jersey again?” you asked as you followed Alexia inside

“Yes...” she simply said as she pushed a door open “... this is our team room.... here you can come before training or stay afterwards... it's there so we all can come together and just spend time together – you are not obligated to come here I would advise it for starters... get to know the team”

“I don't need to get to know them... I know everything from them I need to know” you mumbled your mood not increasing

“Like what?” the catalan challenged you

“All their stats... passing rate... fitness... weaknesses....” you shrugged your shoulders

“That's what everyone can look up...” Alexia said gently “... I mean get to know the team personally”

“No interest in any personal stuff...” you grumbled “... I hope to get out of here by November”

“You signed a contract” the blonde pointed out

“No... I'm legally not allowed to sign contracts... my Parents signed the contract” you said as a matter of fact “... they sold me like a cheap whore”

“You really don't want to be here...” the catalan looked shocked and lost

“No I don't...” you huffed “... but don't worry... I'm professional enough to do my job... I'll be here for training... do my part at games – if I get playing time that is... and smile for pictures... other than that I just want my peace and quiet”

“Here at Barcelona we're familia...” Alexia started “... I understand that this transfer came as a surprise for you and that you had no say in it doesn't make it better... but we are familia and you are a part of that now too... give the team a chance... it's not their fault you got traded”

“Hm... interesting offer..” you thought about it for a second and Alexia really started to hope “... no”

“Okay... I can't do more then to tell you that you are familia now too...” the catalan huffed defeated “... this way to the locker rooms”

“How did it go Capi?” Lucy came to a halt next to Alexia who overlooked your photoshoot

“Not good” the blonde answered shortly

“I'm sorry...” your sister looked embarrassed

“She doesn't want to be her Lucy...” Alexia said not taking her eyes off you “... she's an emotional player and she plays so much better when her mind is at ease... but right now.. she's so angry...”

“City did her dirty Ale...” Lucy looked over to you seeing how the photographer tried to get a smile out of you “... she's hurting... I just beg you to not let her get to you.. you'll need a long breath but she's a good kid... I know it's gonna be hard but you'll need to stay calm with her and PLEASE don't let her rot on the bench”

“She's too good for the bench...” the catalan snorted “... but she's not ready to play a full game... she'll collapse...”

“She'll come around Capi I promise...” your sister said convinced “... Keira will help too... when she sees me and Keira interacting with the team she'll come around too”

“I hope so Lucy...” Alexia sighed “.... I really do hope so”

“Go back to england” you heard a fan yell towards you after your first game

“I wish I could!!!!!” you snapped back getting right into his face “You think I WANT to be here?”

“Woah Bubs...” Lucy was quickly to intercept grabbing you shoving you into Alexias arms signalling her to get you away

“What the hell?!” Alexia exploded once you were inside the tunnel

“Let go” you grunted fighting her tooth and nail

“No...” the catalan pushed you forward “... we're going to have a talk”

“In here” she pushed you into a meeting room “... what were you THINKING?!”

“I just said what I told you before” you snapped back at her “... I don't WANT to be here”

“Okay enough..” Alexia yelled and for the first time you were a little scared of her “... the team was nothing than welcoming to you... you fit into our playing style... you just played your first game and you were a game changer... I understand that you're still upset about the trade but you can't let them get to you like that”

“You... don't understand” you said your voice breaking

“Then tell me so I do” the blonde says softly seeing how you were near your breaking point

“I want to go home” it suddenly broke out of you tears streaming down your face “I want to go back to me friends and me Club...”

“Cariño...” Alexia said softly “... this is your Club now.. I understand that's difficult for you but Barcelona is your home now”

“I want to go back....” you cried standing in the middle of the room with Alexia a few feet away

“I promise this team wants to get to know you...” the blonde kept her voice gentle inching a little bit closer “... to us you already are familia... let them see how amazing you are”

“But I don't want to get to know them” you sniffled taking a the one step back that Alexia inched closer to you

“Cari... I understand this isn't what you wanted but let us help you... you need to accept that in near future nothing will change about your situation” Alexia spoke softly noticing how you still weren't ready to let her comfort you “... you ARE familia... you can be angry and fight everything or you can start to let us in and accept that we won't get off your back... we won't stop trying and we certainly won't leave you to fend for your own”

“But why?” you felt so uncomfortable

“You are familia” the catalan repeated again “You are my Cariño, Mapís Neña, Ingrids weird norwegian thing, Jenni refers to you as Pequeña and Ona calls you Bebita... you just doesn't want to hear it because you're so angry with this... but you are already shining but díos mio you could shine so mucho brighter”

“I just don't know how... all my life I played City Style...” you mumbled and this time you didn't move when Alexia came closer

“Just play Cari...” the blonde smiled carefully grabbing your hand letting her thumb caressing your knuckles “... just do what you love the most and the rest will come... oh... and stay away from Mapí, Piña and Patri... I have a feeling you four will give me a headache”

“I don't need them...” you huffed “.... I can headache you all by meself”

“Oh Cari” Alexia laughed loudly pulling you into a tight hug

“Mapí!!!!” you yelled sprinting down the side line Alexia hot on your heels

“I got you Neña...” the Zaragoza yelled throwing a filled water balloon at her best friend hitting Alexia square in the chest

“Uh oh...” Mapí looked horrified as the blonde catalan came to a sudden halt turning towards her

“Neña...” the tattooed spaniard stammered slowly walking backwards as Alexia made her way over “... NEÑAAAA!!!!”

“Run you spanner... RUN!!” you yelled turning on your heels running back to help Mapí so you decided to jump on Alexias back laughing loudly

“I TOLD you you two are NOT allowed to be unsupervised” the catalan grumbled yet still her hands came around securing you on her back so you wouldn't hurt yourself

“The grumpy norwegian was there” you laughed your arms hanging loosely around the blondes neck

“She has a name” Caro grumbled when she walked past flicking your ear

“Grumpy... see” you exclaimed trying to avoid another flick nearly brining Alexia down

“Stop it you little pest...” Alexia huffed trying to hold her balance with you wriggling on her back “... go annoy Jenni”

“But you are victim of the day” you pouted with Mapí nodding furiously behind Ingrid

“And you will be winner of extra laps in a second... go annoy someone else” the blonde set you back down

“But..” you started again

“Vamos... I have media to do...” Alexia pushed you away slightly smiling to herself when she heard you huff.

It took you around four month until you finally agreed to join the team for a dinner and Alexia decided to push you out of your comfort zone placing you between herself and Irene. Lucy wasn't happy about it fussing over you the entire time you were still closed off pulling back every time one of the other players reached out to you. Now no one could ever imagine that you once were a lone wolf. Just as Alexia predicted you hit it off with Mapí, Piña and Patri – much to the Captains dismay. All three Captains. Jenni always sweared hell and poison on the frustrating four when she was on the receiving end of your pranks

“Jenni already left” you pouted holding onto Alexias trainings jersey

“Then annoy your sister” the blonde waved off

“Ay!!!” Lucy exclaimed from the other side of the pitch looking shocked

“Lucy!!!” you yelled and immediately you and Mapí took off towards her

“No no no no no no no” your sister waved her hands panicked not knowing where to go – so she did what she thought was best... she grabbed Ona pulling the small spaniard in front of her using her as a human shield

“Atureu-vos!!” Ona strictly said giving you and Mapí are warning glare making you halt in your movement Mapí running into your back pushing you forward nearly into Ona

“Are you serious?” the smaller spaniard turned around looking at her girlfriend “A re you really using me to stop YOUR sister?”

“They are scared of you” Lucy shrugged her shoulders embarrassed smiling apologetic

“Unbelievable” Ona rolled her eyes shooing the two of you away “Trobeu algú més”

“What she saying?” you looked confused at Mapí

“She's a not fun person” Mapí grumbled pulling you away “That what she's saying”

“I knew that already...” you huffed letting the tattooed spaniard pull you forward “... she always brings home these fin things... and then leaves them laying around in the kitchen”

“You would benefit from eating fish from time to time as well Bebita” the small spaniard yelled after you “.... now to you”

“I... love you??” Lucy smiled hopefully knowing she was in deep shit

It was safe to say you finally found your place. In a country that was still too hot for your liking. With a team that included 75% lunatics. With a playing style you needed to get used too. But you fit in. Alexia took you under her wing staying after trainings when she noticed you hid a ball from the staff to train on your own. The blonde watched you working on your technique, speed and stamina. She left you to sort your problems out on your own before stepping back on the pitch offering help and sometimes a shoulder to cry on when you got overwhelmed or frustrated.

Jenni took it upon herself to shield and protect you from the world. Whenever someone came to close and she saw how uncomfortable you got she pushed herself between you and the offending person. She also pushed herself between you and some fans when you lost your temper starting to argue with them. Most of the time you climbed on the lanky spaniards back to continue to argue just from a higher point. Jenni was one of the few people who was allowed to carry you when you fell asleep on the bus after a game or to the way to one.

Irene mothered you like she mothered Mateo. She always made sure you drank enough – not sugary stuff tho – eat properly and got enough sleep. When you were extremly grumpy and close to a tantrum she'll be the one putting her foot down sending you to your hotel room without dessert to later pay you a visit talking it out. At one point she even made sure that she packed a spare kit for you since you've been known to not be the cleanest eater. The amount of times the poor kit woman had to try to get tomato sauce out of your clothes were uncounterable. So Irene took over the task to have everything ready if needed. Including the cereal bars you absolutely loved but made the nutrition coach get a stroke.

Ingrid was the one who always managed to calm you down. You were young and hot headed and while you got quite good holding in your temper if the other players prodded you once to often you just exploded in their faces. So everyone looked at Ingrid to retrieve you and calm you down. The natural calmness of the norwegian made it hard for you to keep fuelling your fire. Ingrid just kept her hand lightly on the back of your neck and instantly you calmed down.

Frido was the fun Aunt who bought you everything you asked for and even stuff you didn't ask for. That's how you ended up with a motocross bike for your 18th birthday much to the horror of Keira, Ona, Alexia, Irene and obviously your Mum. Lucy and Jenni already debated who could have the bike on what day of the week until Ona and Alexia put a firm stop on their discussion confiscating the keys immediately. Frido had to hand out her credit card to Alexia until she thought of a more useful less dangerous present. So Frido got you a car with the argument less dangerous since more metal around you. This time Irene fished the Keys out of your hand telling you you'd get them back once you passed your drivers license and showed them you were a good driver. The swede just rolled her eyes at the adults calling them spoilsports earning herself five extra laps.

Aitana was your go-to for quietness. The quiet spaniard never bothered you or minded your presence and sometimes this was just what you needed. You also made it to your personal goal to teach her proper english after you heard her ask a fan if they “work or no work”. You had a coronary.... right there. Aitana taught you catalan. You asked her to keep it a secret until you were fluent enough to join a conversation throwing half the team off. The brown haired spaniard agreed smirking evilly when you out of the blue joined a conversation between Alexia and Ona giving your two cents before casually walking down the tunnel towards the locker rooms leaving the two dumb folded.

And then there were Mapí, Piña and Patri. Together with you the team called you the “frustrating four” since when you four were together in one place it'll frustrate the adults to no end trying to figure out what prank you'll come up with next. Or get frustrated by your pranks. The three women were your saviour. Mapí might be small and appeared to be easy going but in reality she loved you like a sister and fought every one who said a bad word against you. Piña was the one who poked you to do something that would get the four of you in immense trouble but she knew you were the one having a special stand with Alexia and Irene so your punishment would be lighter. Patri was the one always cheering you on. No matter if it was on or off the pitch. Whenever you needed a cheerleader you knew Patri was there. She made you run faster, jump higher, shoot harder. She also made you run faster when Alexia was on your heels again.

All of them got to witness how you grew from the angry unhappy girl to the mostly grown up focused young woman. That's why Alexia – La Reina de Barcelona – waited to lift the Champions League trophy until you were next to her when you won your first ever title. You were the first who lifted the trophy (the ugly ass trophy which Tooney pointed out several times next camp) after your Captain even before Irene and Jenni did. And just as your team celebrated, singing loudly you tip toed away finding the person you grew to like very much over the past year. You knocked on the visitors locker room door nervously and asked for the woman who came out and you saw how much the loss took a toll on her

“Here to gloat your victory around?” the woman asked her shoulders hung low

“No... here to win again” you grinned taking her face into your hands kissing her softly

“I knew you liked me all those years” the blonde grinned once the kiss ended

“Pillock” you snorted as you felt her hand grab the back of your neck pulling you in for another kiss

#lucy bronze x reader #keira walsh x reader #ona batlle x reader #barca femeni #lucy bronze #mapi leon x reader #jenni hermoso x reader #ingrid engen x reader #woso image #claudia pina #georgia stanway x reader

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arduousflame · 1 day ago

Text

Crow's skills

“So, Lucanis, I heard Crows can slow down their breathing until they become invisible.”

Taash had spun their chair around, leaning on the backrest as they stared at the Crow expectantly. The question caught Lucanis off guard, derailing his train of thought. He blinked at the page in front of him, pen hovering mid-sentence. “Why would slowing down your breathing make you turn invisible?” “That's what I was gonna ask!” They shot back, head cocked to the side.” So. Can you?”

“No.” He replied flatly, before returning his attention to the letters in front of him.

“Oh. Okay.” The silence in the dining hall was short-lived.

“And what about that special move Crows can do that can stop their enemies heart?”

This time Lucanis was prepared.

“Yes, Taash, it’s called stabbing,” he deadpanned, his pen tapping once against the paper.

From across the room, Harding had tried but failed to suppress her chuckle. He shot her a sharp look, which only made her grin widen before she continued her conversation with Davrin.

Most of the team had their own rooms, though Rook stubbornly refused to consider her aquarium a ‘room’. Yet they all seemed to gravitate toward the dining hall in the evenings. It had become a shared space for working, reading, or simply talking. Tonight was no different.

Dinner had been cleared away, and the group had splintered into smaller activities. While Neve and Emmrich had excused themselves for the evening, quoting cases and rituals, respectively, as the reasons, Davrin and Harding were by the fireplace, planning a trek through the Hinterlands. Bellara sat at the head of the table, her notebook open as she scribbled furiously, occasionally tossing out questions to Rook or muttering sentences under her breath. Rook, meanwhile, had claimed a spot next to her, nearer the fire, with Assan perched quietly behind her. She had taken an interest in the theoretical side of her magic lately, working her way through a stack of treatises that Emmrich had eagerly provided. Lucanis had to admit, her grasp of magical theory had grown impressive -far beyond anything a Crow would be taught. And it was obvious she really enjoyed the academics, her face lighting up when talking magic with Neve and Emmrich. Or even dissecting those contraptions with Bellara. Being a Crow had been a prison for her. The two women were now quietly discussing amongst themselves.

“No,” Taash interjected, refusing to let the conversation drop. “I mean, like, with a finger, poking someone to disrupt the rhythm of their blood flow.”

Lucanis exhaled, setting his letters aside. “That sounds far more complicated than using a dagger.”

“True, but sometimes you need to take someone out quietly, right? Incapacitate them without leaving a trace. Or make it look natural.”

“That’s what poisons are for. But,” he immediately regretted entertaining the topic, “there are hand-to-hand combat styles that use pressure points to take down an enemy.” Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair, resigning himself to the inevitable spiral this conversation was about to take.

“Oh! Now we are talking!” The Qunari shot upright.

“They’re mainly used in self-defense,” Lucanis explained, “to disarm someone, for example. Or to quickly take someone out. They are not that useful in heat of a battle. But one-on-one, they could mean a quick victory.”

Taash’s enthusiasm had caught the attention of Davrin and Harding, who glanced over from their spot by the fire, now tuned into the conversation.

“Can you show me?” Taash leaned their chair precariously forward, balancing on two legs.

“You planning to disarm dragons with those moves, Taash?” Davrin quipped, earning a burst of giggles from Harding.

“Can you imagine,” Harding wheezed, “a dragon on its knees because you tickled the right spot?”

Taash waved them off with a rude gesture. “We’ve been fighting more than just dragons lately. You never know when it might come in handy.” Turning back to Lucanis, they fixed him with an eager stare. “You did promise to show me some Crow tricks, so... time for a practical lesson.”

Lucanis chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I did promise that.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Davrin sauntered over to the cupboard and grabbed a beer, grinning. “Lucanis taking down Taash? I wouldn’t miss this.”

“No, no, I actually want to learn something,” Taash protested, putting all four chair legs back on the ground. “I won’t pick anything up if I’m knocked out cold. You can demonstrate on Davrin instead, Lucanis.”

“Over my dead body, Crow,” Davrin shot back immediately, pointing his beer bottle at Lucanis before he could even voice his refusal. He raised his hands in acceptance. But the Warden’s defiant expression quickly shifted to something more mischievous. He nudged Harding with a knowing look, before speaking up:

“Hey, Rook! Care to lend a hand here?”

Rook glanced up abruptly from her conversation with Bellara. “With what, exactly?”

Lucanis, catching on to Davrin’s scheme, groaned.

“Taash is interested in becoming a Crow.” Harding replied.

Rook shot a puzzled look at Bellara, who simply shrugged. Clearly neither of them had been paying attention.

“Lucanis wants to show off a few moves,” Davrin explained with a grin. “But he needs a volunteer. You’ve had enough practice as a Crow yourself, haven’t you?” She just blinked at that. “Yes?” “Well then, both of you, show us those fabled Crow training techniques.”

“Just get over here already, Rook!” Taash cut through the chatter, clearly growing impatient. “And bring that spoon.”

Harding giggled from the sidelines, pulling Bellara closer to her and prompting a smug smirk from Davrin. Meanwhile, Taash remained oblivious to the silent game the pair seemed to be playing. And Lucanis made a mental note to add triple the amount of Taash’s peppers to next evening’s soup.

Rook glanced back to Davrin and Harding, sighed in resignation, grabbed the spoon, and approached Lucanis and Taash. Her head tilted slightly as she regarded Lucanis with a questioning look. He shrugged apologetically.

“Right”, Taash instructed, gesturing dramatically. “First, disarming. Rook, attack him!”

“With the spoon?”

Lucanis muttered a curse under his breath and stepped forward. Gently but firmly, he took Rook’s arm and adjusted it, lifting it into a stance as though she were about to stab him. He tried to ignore the amused quirk of her lips -and the unwelcome warmth blooming in his chest. So close to. Rook. He forced himself to focus, recalling his training. She was their leader, and a fellow Crow. A de Riva, Viago would lynch him, Caterina’s heir or not.

“Like this.” Lucanis shifted his stance, his boots making a soft scrape on the stone floor as he anchored his weight. He stepped into Rook’s space with precision. His hand gripped her wrist with practiced ease, and in a smooth motion, he twisted her arm downward and to the side. The spoon clattered to the floor with a hollow ring, the sound cutting through the muted chatter of the room. The sudden twist forced Rook to her knees, her arm following the motion as though caught in an unseen current.

Lucanis’ hand remained steady on her wrist, guiding her back to her feet with a gentle pull that spoke of years of training. He retrieved the spoon from the ground, and handed it back to her.

“You went too fast,” Taash complained, leaning in. “I barely saw what you did.”

“There’s a reason,” Lucanis replied, taking Rook’s arm again, “the element of surprise plays to your advantage.” He turned it palm-up. “Here,” he said, tracing the delicate lines of her wrist, making a mental note of the scars that lined her wrist, “just below the pulse point, toward the center.” His fingertips brushed her skin lightly as he searched for the spot.

He risked a glance at Rook. Her gaze was fixed on her hand, her expression unreadable. But her cheeks where a tint darker than before. When he found the point, he pressed firmly with two fingers. Rook’s hand opened reflexively, and the spoon slipped from her grasp once more.

“Sorry,” he murmured with a faintly apologetic smile as he noticed her wince.

Meanwhile, Taash was practically on top of them, mimicking his motions on their own hand with rapt concentration. They nodded along as if committing each detail to memory.

Lucanis moved Rook in front of him again, motioning her to take an attacking stance again. She nodded to indicate she understood the plan. So, when he moved in again to disarm her, she blocked him with a twist of her own. One foot planted firmly on the ground, she kept a hold of the spoon this time, even managing to tap him on the shoulder with it. Whatever she had said about her skills before, she knew how to hold her ground in a fight. “Oh, element of surprise, now I get it.”

“If that was all-” Rook made to walk away, but Taash grabbed her shoulder. “No, not done yet.” Rook glanced longingly to her papers. “I was busy with something though…” Taash turned to face Lucanis again.

“Now, how to take someone out.” Taash ignored Rook’s sputtering objection: “Excuse me, what?!”

“There are multiple ways…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taash interrupted. “The most effective one.”

Lucanis sighed, slipping into the cadence of his old lessons. “If your goal is to buy time, there is a stranglehold that is really effective.”

“Choking someone takes too long.” The Qunari cut in.

“There’s a difference between a choke and a strangle. And it’s a bit safer if your intent is not to kill but incapacitate someone.”

He glanced at Rook as he spoke. She had taken a step back, crossing her arms, a knowing look on her face. Lucanis caught her gaze and managed a small, brief smile before forcing himself to look away.

“A choke cuts off airflow, which usually means crushing the windpipe. Messy and risky.”

Rook arched an eyebrow but said nothing. She seemed to know where this lesson was leading.

“Strangling,” he went on, “is different. It blocks blood flow or targets specific nerves, cutting off oxygen to the brain and causing unconsciousness. A sharp blow to the neck can do the trick, but it’s less refined. Precision,” he said, “is about blocking the main arteries.”

Taash’s gaze stayed fixed on him, unrelenting. “Go on,” they urged.

Lucanis hesitated, glancing over at Rook. “Ah… Rook?” He started. And before Rook could raise her concerns, Taash waved a hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine. You said so yourself, if the intent is not to kill, remember?” Of course they’d pay attention when killing was involved.

Rook gave him a long look, her eyes narrowing with clear apprehension. “Remind me to never let you make promises to Taash again”, she said dryly.

Lucanis tilted his head, silently asking the question. She held his gaze for a moment before relenting with a shrug. “Fine. But I’m sitting down for this. I’m not faceplanting on these stones. Viago, at least, was kind enough to have us practice in a grass field.”

He chuckled at her comment. “Never took Viago for such a sap.”

Rook shook her head and lowered herself to a nearby chair, muttering something under her breath that Lucanis couldn’t quite catch. He thought her heard her say: “…in the middle of winter, on frozen ground...” That was more like the Viago he knew. Taash, meanwhile, leaned forward eagerly, waiting for the demonstration to begin.

Lucanis took a moment to collect himself before stepping in front of her. She looked up at him, a nervous flicker in her eyes, her lips drawn to a thin line. The disarming was one thing… Movements they would emulate in battle.

His hand brushed against her neck, fingers sliding with practiced ease to the hollow just below her jaw. He angled her chin upward gently and their eyes locked. How he could get lost in that deep blue. Rook smells of. Fire and ashes… For the love of- not now, Spite! He pushed the demon back down.

“First, find the pulse at the throat,” he instructed, suppressing his inner turmoil, pressing two fingers lightly against the side of her neck where he could feel the rhythmic beat. Her pulse quickened under his fingers, the slight hitch in her breathing betraying her composure. She broke eye contact and glanced downward, her gaze fixed on the ground. Lucanis pushed aside the fluttering in his own chest, focusing on the task at hand.

“Then, locate the same spot on the other side with your thumb,” he explained, shifting his hand to demonstrate. He moved aside slightly, so Taash could take a closer look.

From the corner of his eye, Lucanis saw Harding lean toward Bellara, whispering something that made Bellara slap a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Her wide eyes darted toward them, and Davrin’s booming laughter quickly followed.

Rook, flustered, brandished her spoon at the group like a weapon. “You’re lucky I don’t skin you with this,” she muttered. Davrin winked at her. She huffed in reply.

Lucanis coughed into his free hand to regain focus. “Now, with the remaining fingers, you apply pressure to the nerve at the base of the jaw, just under the ear -here.” He adjusted his hold, his fingers digging in slightly. Even this light pressure made Rook hiss slightly, trying to move away from the pressure. Taash leaned in to take a look, humming in understanding.

“Don’t see much immobilizing yet! Is the tactic to bore your opponent?” Davrin called from his spot by the fire.

“Yeah, Lucanis,” Harding added, her grin devilish. “Stop stalling. Just show us already. You can explain after.” Taash nodded eagerly, clearly in full agreement.

Maker, they’re enjoying this far too much, Lucanis thought grimly. He glanced down at Rook, tilting his head in silent inquiry. He had been stalling. But not for whatever reasons Davrin was so keen on implying. This would hurt. He’d be overloading her senses, the feeling of a sledgehammer to the head. She met his gaze with a steady look, then sighed and gave him a small, resigned nod before closing her eyes. He felt her relax as her own training took over, her breathing slowing. She would have been taught to not resist, not to panic. Still, there was no threat of cane or blade here. They were among… friends? Who had worrying interests, sure, but, friends nonetheless. She could say no, he would understand. The goading of the others, he could deflect that for her if needed. She had nothing to prove. Rook. Trusts us. To catch her. Spite piped up again. Did she?

He couldn’t afford to linger on the quiet strength in her eyes -or how easily she trusted him, even now.

Adjusting his grip for a final time, he pressed down, practiced and quick. Her pulse, which had been fast but steady, now faltered -skipping beats and racing unpredictably. Her breathing hitched at that sensation, a brief gasp escaping her lips. Within moments, her body went completely limp.

As she began to collapse forward, unconscious, Lucanis released the hold and caught her easily, keeping her upright. He eased her back, carefully, supporting her as she began to stir.

Rook blinked rapidly, her vision clearing as the disorientation ebbed. Her hand went to her throat, massaging the tender spot with a grimace. A soft curse escaped her lips as she rubbed her head groggily. Maker’s breath, I forgot how unpleasant that feels,” she muttered, her voice rasping slightly.

“Breathe, you’re fine”, Lucanis murmured, his voice low and apologetic. He kept his fingers at her neck, monitoring her pulse until it slowed and steadied once more. Only when he was satisfied she truly was fine, did he let go.

Lucanis stepped back as Taash clapped their hands together. “That. Was. Incredible,” they said, eyes alight with fascination. “Show it again, slower!” Rook raised a hand in weak protest at that. “Find another practice dummy. I am out.” Lucanis agreed: “Once is plenty.” Taash turned to the others. “Davrin?” “I already said no, and after that? I’m staying well out of arms reach, Lucanis!”

Taash slouched back in their chair, sulking briefly before Harding came over and whispered something in their ear. Whatever she said brought an immediate spark to Taash’s eyes, and a wide grin spread across their face. Moments later, the pair excused themselves, leaving the room with an air of conspiratorial excitement.

Bellara wasn’t far behind. She gathered her notebook and pens, offering a soft “Good night” and a cheerful wave before slipping out into the hallway.

Rook returned to the table, intent on her papers, but her focus faltered. With an irritated sigh, she began gathering the scattered sheets, muttering under her breath. She tapped Assan, who had remained by her chair, and the gryphon stretched before bounding after her. Together, they settled by the fireplace. Rook sank onto the floor, scratching Assan behind the ears as the gryphon let out a low, contented rumble. Her gaze drifted to the flickering flames, but her shoulders betrayed her unease, despite the warmth of the fire washing over her.

From deep within, Spite stirred, its voice curling like smoke in Lucanis’ mind. The demon muttered a pointed complaint about the audacity of hurting Rook, followed by an insistence that he should “make it up to her.” Lucanis clenched his jaw, pushing Spite’s grumbling aside with the mental equivalent of a weary hand wave. He refocused on the half-finished letters scattered across the table, their words blurring together under the flickering firelight.

Across the room, Davrin lounged in his chair, swirling the remnants of his drink. His gaze lingered on Lucanis, then drifted to Rook, a sly, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well,” he drawled, setting his bottle down with deliberate ease, “time for me to find some rest. Assan, coming, boy?”

The gryphon, who had been nestled comfortably beside Rook, gave a soft, reluctant whine and nudged her arm before rising to follow. Rook smiled faintly, her hand brushing the creature’s feathers in farewell as Davrin and Assan slipped out of the room. The door closed with a quiet thud, leaving Lucanis and Rook alone in the flickering warmth of the hearth.

Rook raised a hand in a lazy wave as Davrin disappeared, then pulled her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. Her gaze remained fixed on the fire, the light dancing across her face in warm, flickering hues. The soft crackle of the flames filled the silence.

Lucanis sighed, his attention drifting from the unfinished letters to the quiet figure by the fire. Abandoning the task for the second time that evening, he pushed his chair back and rose. A quick glance confirmed Rook hadn’t moved, her focus lost in the flames. He crossed the room, his footsteps soft against the stone, and rummaged through their modest stores, pulling out a bottle of wine and two mismatched glasses.

He returned to the hearth, lowering himself carefully to the floor beside her. She blinked, glancing in his direction, an inquisitive eyebrow raised as he extended one of the glasses toward her.

“A peace offering,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Rook tilted her head, studying him for a moment before reaching for the glass. The faintest smile curved her lips as she took it, her gaze lingering on him with quiet curiosity. And here you were calling Viago a sap for having us collapse in a grass field. Now you’re offering me wine. What will the other houses think of your training methods, Dellamorte?

Her words held a teasing edge, but there was an underlying bitterness, an old wound barely scabbed over. He didn’t rise to the bait, instead lifting his own glass toward her.

“Let this be my vow to never entertain Taash’s fantasies again.” Rook barked a short laugh. “You have no idea the kind of ideas you’ve inspired in Harding and Taash, do you?” Lucanis blinked, caught off guard. “I- what?” Rook stared at him in disbelief. “You really don’t know? How close those two have gotten?” When he gave her nothing but a blank stare, she laughed again. Then it clicked. “Oh, mierda.”

“Forget the wine,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Watching you put that together was worth all of it.”

“I do apologize if I hurt you.”

She shook her head. “Honestly, my idea of normal is probably a little warped.” She leaned back on her arms, letting the fire’s warmth seep into her. “But I know you never meant to hurt me. I’m serious though- no promising things to Taash without running it by me first.” She gave him a playful shake of her glass. “Grandson of the First Talon or not, I had no trouble telling Viago off. I’ll start doing it with you too. As far as everyone’s concerned, I’m still the leader here.”

There was no bite to her words, her smile soft and open as she locked eyes with him. In the depths of her gaze, the blue was filled with trust.

“Then I will gracefully defer to our great leader,” Lucanis said, inclining his head before taking a sip.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of them as the flames slowly burned down to embers.

#lace harding #taash #davrin #bellara lutare #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard spo #rookanis #lucanis dellamorte

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moonselune · 2 days ago

Note

hellooo!! I have a kinda odd req hehe

could you write for the female companions reacting to finding bard tav secretely training their fighting skills?

like, tav went out to the far edge of the clearing for some reason, and the ladies followed because like why not, lets go check if tavs doing good

they find tav singing, which like, pfft, obviously, but then in the middle of it, they just pull out whole fucking fighting techniques, obliterating a dummy they had like .. stole borrowed from Laez'el, while still humming their little tune during kicks and slaps as if it was the most normal shit ever

could u incorporate some kinda jiu-jitsu in there?? I adore the grace that comes with it, and feel as though it would be suit for an elegant (not) singer such as tav 💫

i know this is kinda weird i just adore the 'uninnocent innocent being' trope. (　・ω・)

not weird at all I love this trope too! Thanks for the request xox

Karlach:

The late afternoon sun was casting long, golden rays over the grove as Karlach wandered back to camp, her infernal engine thrumming softly in her chest. She hadn’t meant to follow you. Not exactly. It was just that you’d taken Lae’zel’s battered training dummy—something she’d been in the middle of repairing—and disappeared into the woods. That was strange enough, but Karlach had felt a familiar pull of curiosity mixed with concern. What were you up to out there?

Now, crouched behind a large oak tree, Karlach peeked around the trunk and found you standing at the edge of the clearing. A soft tune drifted through the air, your voice carrying the melody like a warm breeze.

"Oh, Y/N," she whispered aloud. "Singing to the dummy, huh? Classic you."

You swayed slightly with the rhythm of your song, your movements so fluid and natural they almost looked like a dance. But then, without warning, you stopped mid-verse. You reached out, gripping the dummy’s shoulder—and in the blink of an eye, flipped it over your hip.

Karlach’s jaw dropped.

You didn’t stop there. Before the dummy even hit the ground, you shifted your stance, your body moving with the kind of practiced grace she’d only seen in seasoned warriors. You dropped into a low sweep, pivoting on one leg to strike its base, sending it sprawling. Rising fluidly, you delivered a precise strike to the 'head,' punctuating the movement with a hum as if you hadn’t just obliterated a target.

The final flourish was almost poetic: you executed a spinning kick, your heel colliding with the dummy so hard it cracked the wooden stand beneath it. The dummy tumbled to the side, and you stood there, breathing lightly, as if the exertion hadn’t affected you in the slightest.

Karlach couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“WHAT IN THE HELLS WAS THAT?!”

Your head snapped toward her, your face flooding with color as you realized you weren’t alone.

“Karlach!” you stammered, your hands flying to smooth your tunic. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?!” Karlach stepped out from behind the tree, her arms gesturing wildly. “What are you doing? Since when do you know how to do… that?” She pointed at the now-defeated dummy, which lay pitifully on its side.

You crossed your arms defensively, cheeks still burning. “I’ve always known a little…”

“A little?!” Karlach let out a booming laugh, her tail swishing behind her. “Babe, you just took that dummy apart like it insulted your singing or something!”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting away.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you mumbled. “It’s just… I wanted to be able to help. You all are so incredible in battle, and I’m just…”

“You’re just what?” Karlach cut in, stepping closer. “The bard who keeps us inspired and alive? The one who holds this whole ragtag crew together?”

Your blush deepened, but you met her eyes. “I just thought… if I could be stronger—physically—I wouldn’t be such a burden.”

Karlach’s expression softened immediately. She reached out, her large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks gently.

“Love,” she said, her voice low and warm, “you’re never a burden. You don’t have to break dummies in half to prove your worth to anyone. But… I gotta admit, that was really impressive.”

You blinked up at her. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Mad?” Karlach grinned, her sharp teeth flashing. “Are you kidding? I’m proud as hell. But I am gonna need you to teach me some of those moves. Especially that spinny one—that was badass.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your earlier embarrassment melting away.

“Maybe,” you teased, poking her chest lightly. “But only if you promise not to tell the others.”

Karlach made a zipping motion across her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me, champ. But I’m not gonna lie—I’m gonna have a hard time not bragging about my badass bard babe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. Karlach pulled you into a tight hug, her warmth enveloping you completely.

“C’mon,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get back to camp before Lae’zel notices her dummy’s been… obliterated.”

You groaned, leaning into her. “We’re so dead.”

Karlach laughed, her voice echoing through the trees. “Eh, worth it.”

Minthara:

The woods beyond the camp were quiet, save for the faint notes of a melody drifting through the air. Minthara moved silently between the trees, her keen drow eyes tracking your figure at the far edge of the clearing. It was unusual for you to wander off alone, even more so to take Lae'zel’s battered training dummy with you. Curiosity piqued, Minthara decided to follow.

There you were, standing before the dummy, singing softly to yourself. Minthara paused, leaning against the trunk of a tree, watching. Singing to a training dummy wasn’t entirely out of character for you—your bardic inclinations often led to unusual displays of creativity—but she was puzzled. Why bring it all the way out here?

Her question was soon answered.

As the lilting tune fell from your lips, you suddenly shifted. Your stance became poised, your body a study in fluid motion. Without breaking the rhythm of your humming, you lunged at the dummy. Your movements were precise and graceful, your strikes flowing seamlessly into each other like a carefully choreographed dance. A swift kick sent the dummy reeling, followed by a series of rapid jabs and slaps that would have left a living opponent breathless. Then, with a pivot and a sweep of your leg, you brought the dummy crashing to the ground.

Minthara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as you continued, employing techniques she recognized as advanced martial arts. There was a particular elegance to your movements, a controlled power that belied the carefree melody you still hummed. You transitioned into a joint lock on the dummy, flipping it as though it were an actual opponent resisting your movements.

Finally, you stood over it, brushing your hands together as if dusting off invisible dirt, your song never faltering. She stepped out of the shadows, slow and deliberate.

“Well, well,” Minthara drawled, her voice low and laced with amusement. “What is this, my little songbird?”

You turned, startled to see her, but quickly recovered, flashing her a sheepish smile. “Oh, Minthara. Didn’t realize you were watching.”

Her red eyes narrowed, scanning you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“You’re full of surprises. I’ve spent this entire time believing you to be helpless in battle, reliant on your songs and meager spells for survival.” She gestured at the broken dummy. “And yet, here you are, demonstrating martial prowess that rivals even Lae'zel.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Well… it’s not something I show off much. I guess I like to keep it quiet.”

Minthara crossed her arms, her expression stern. “Quiet? Or concealed? Tell me, have you enjoyed allowing me to think of you as defenseless? A fragile thing in need of constant protection?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the accusation. “What? No, that’s not it at all—”

She cut you off, stepping closer, her tone sharp. “You’ve let me believe you were incapable of handling yourself. All this time, I’ve fought to shield you, thinking you needed me.”

You hesitated, then sighed, meeting her piercing gaze. “You do love being overprotective, Minthara. Don’t deny it.”

Her expression faltered, a flicker of realization crossing her face. “That is beside the point.”

“No, it’s exactly the point,” you retorted, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You thrive on it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much satisfaction you get out of guarding me like a dragon hoarding treasure.”

Minthara’s scowl deepened, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You are insufferable.”

“And you adore me for it,” you quipped, stepping closer to her. “Minthara, I never meant to deceive you. I just… I didn’t want to take away something that brings you joy.”

She studied you for a long moment, her golden eyes searching. Then, with a resigned sigh, she uncrossed her arms. “You are maddening, songbird.”

“And yet you love me.”

Minthara’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. “I do,” she admitted, her voice softening. “Even if you insist on testing my patience.”

You grinned and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You will,” she said, her tone regaining its edge. “Starting with another demonstration. I wish to see every technique you’ve been hiding from me.”

“Now?” you asked, glancing at the ruined dummy.

“Now,” she replied, stepping back and gesturing to the clearing. “And this time, no singing.”

You laughed, shaking your head but obeying. After all, when Minthara asked, you couldn’t refuse.

Lae'zel:

The clearing at the edge of the woods was quiet, save for the faint strains of a melody drifting through the crisp evening air. Lae'zel moved silently, her movements honed by years of Githyanki discipline, her sharp gaze locked on your figure in the distance. She had been curious when she noticed you sneaking away from camp with her broken training dummy. Lae'zel didn't believe in secrets—at least not when they came from you—and her curiosity outweighed her irritation at your appropriation of her equipment.

When she arrived at the clearing, she saw you standing before the battered dummy, humming a tune, your voice soft and lilting. Lae'zel frowned. Singing to a training dummy was strange, even for you. Still, she folded her arms and leaned against a tree, watching silently.

Then you moved.

With the grace of a dancer, you shifted your stance, your feet gliding effortlessly across the ground. You launched into a fluid series of attacks, every strike precise, every movement seamless. Your legs swept low, toppling the dummy, before you flipped backward and struck again with a powerful palm thrust. Lae'zel's eyes widened slightly as you transitioned smoothly into an arm lock, flipping the dummy as though it were an opponent resisting your control.

And the whole time, you kept humming.

Lae'zel’s frown deepened into a scowl. This was no ordinary display. You were using techniques she recognized as advanced martial arts, movements that spoke of training and discipline far beyond the carefree bard she knew. Her pride prickled, and her hands twitched, itching to act.

She didn’t hesitate. Stepping forward, she called out, her voice sharp and commanding. “If you think to test yourself, bard, you shall find no better opponent than me.”

You barely had time to turn before Lae'zel lunged. Reflex took over as you dodged her initial strike, countering with a swift kick that she deflected with ease. Her blade remained sheathed, but her strikes came fast and hard, testing your mettle with every movement.

You tried to hold your ground, countering her attacks with the techniques you had been practicing. For a brief moment, you thought you might impress her—until she caught your wrist mid-strike, twisted you effortlessly, and swept your legs out from under you. You landed on your back with a thud, her knee pressing firmly against your chest, her hand gripping your wrist like iron.

Her golden eyes bore into yours, her expression a mix of fury and curiosity. “Explain yourself. Now.”

You winced, trying to catch your breath under her unrelenting weight. “I—was training.”

Her grip tightened. “Obviously. Why?”

You hesitated, your face flushing. “I wanted to… to be better. To protect you.”

Lae'zel blinked, her scowl deepening. “Protect me? You are a fool. I am the superior warrior. I do not need protecting.”

“I know,” you said quickly, your voice soft. “But I care about you, Lae'zel. I hate the thought of you facing danger alone, of not being able to help you when it matters most.”

Her expression shifted, the anger in her gaze softening into something more unreadable. She studied you for a long moment before scoffing and releasing your wrist, though her knee remained firmly in place. “You waste your time. You are no match for me, nor will you ever be.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted with a small smile. “But I can still try.”

Lae'zel huffed, rising to her feet and pulling you up with her. “You are a fool,” she repeated, but her tone was less harsh. “Your efforts are clumsy, your techniques unfinished. But your spirit…” She paused, her lips twitching into a rare, begrudging smile. “Your spirit is not without merit.”

You grinned, brushing dirt off your tunic. “Coming from you, love, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Do not misunderstand,” she said, jabbing a finger at your chest. “You will not protect me. But if you insist on training, you will do so properly. Under my instruction.”

Your smile widened. “Does that mean you’ll teach me?”

“It means you will endure,” she said, turning on her heel and gesturing for you to follow. “Now, return my dummy to camp. We begin at dawn.”

Despite her brusque tone, you couldn’t help but notice the faintest hint of pride in her eyes as she walked away. And for that, every bruise was worth it.

Shadowheart:

The edge of the clearing was quiet except for the melodic strains of your voice carrying softly on the breeze. Shadowheart stood hidden among the trees, her brows knit in mild confusion as she observed you standing before a broken training dummy that clearly belonged to Lae’zel. Singing to it wasn’t entirely out of character for you—Shadowheart had seen you serenade stranger objects—but something about your focus held her attention.

You were humming a playful tune, your voice lilting and gentle, as if you didn’t have a care in the world. Then, without breaking the rhythm of your melody, you moved.

The shift was graceful, almost hypnotic. Shadowheart’s breath caught as you launched into a series of movements that seemed more like a dance than a fight. Your steps were light, deliberate, as you circled the dummy, and then—your arm shot out in a palm strike that cracked against the wooden surface. The dummy wobbled but didn’t fall, and you followed up with a spinning kick that knocked it clean off balance. Still singing, you transitioned smoothly into a series of intricate holds and flips, mimicking the motions of grappling an invisible foe with precision and grace.

It was elegant, fluid, and completely unexpected.

Shadowheart found herself riveted, her lips parting slightly as you executed a flawless takedown, your hands locking the dummy into a chokehold before you released it and returned to your feet in one seamless motion. The contrast between the peaceful tune you hummed and the deadly precision of your strikes left her both amused and… intrigued. She felt her cheeks warm as her thoughts turned decidedly less innocent.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, she stepped out from her hiding place, her arms crossed and her smirk coy. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

Your head snapped up, your cheeks flushing immediately at the sight of her. “Shadowheart! I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“No, I imagine not.” She strolled closer, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Here I thought you were sneaking off for some peaceful alone time. Instead, I find you… dismantling Lae’zel’s dummy with techniques I didn’t know you possessed.”

You glanced down, suddenly shy, your hands twisting nervously in front of you. “I—I didn’t want anyone to see. It’s just something I’ve been working on. You know, in case I need to defend myself.”

Shadowheart arched an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Defend yourself? Against what, exactly? Poor unsuspecting training dummies?”

You pouted slightly, which only seemed to amuse her more. “I thought it might be useful. Everyone’s always protecting me. I just wanted to—”

“To what?” she interrupted, stepping even closer. Her voice dropped, softer, more intimate. “Prove yourself? Impress someone?” She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over you appreciatively. “If that was the goal, you’ve certainly succeeded.”

Your blush deepened, and you looked away, trying to play off her teasing. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Oh, it’s far from nothing,” she murmured, her tone laced with both admiration and mischief. “I have to say, it’s quite… captivating. Watching you move like that.” She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. “And you looked so at ease. Singing while you fought. It’s rather… arousing.”

“Shadowheart!” you squeaked, your voice higher than you intended. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hide your embarrassment, but she only laughed softly, catching your wrists and pulling them gently away.

“Don’t hide from me,” she said, her voice dipping into something low and warm. “I like this side of you. Confident, graceful, capable. Why have you been hiding it?”

You hesitated, meeting her gaze. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Everyone’s so skilled already. And… well, I kind of like when you—when you fuss over me.”

She paused, her smile softening. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always so protective. It makes me feel… cared for.”

Shadowheart’s expression shifted, her teasing melting into something more tender. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing gently across your skin. “You are cared for. Deeply.” She leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft yet lingering, a silent promise wrapped in affection.

When she pulled back, her smirk returned, though it was gentler now. “But I’ll admit, I might enjoy seeing you take down a few more dummies. Especially if you keep singing while you do it.”

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. “Deal. But only if you don’t tell Lae’zel I took her dummy.”

Shadowheart chuckled, threading her fingers through yours. “Your secret is safe with me, my love. For now.”

Jaheira:

The forest clearing was tranquil, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the trees. Jaheira walked at a measured pace, her steps as silent as the breeze rustling the leaves. She had noticed your absence and decided to follow, curious as to what you might be up to. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she stopped, her brows furrowing slightly as she took in the sight before her.

There you were, standing serenely in the center of the clearing with Lae’zel’s broken training dummy. That, in itself, was not entirely unusual—Jaheira was used to your whimsical nature. You were humming a lilting tune, a faint smile on your lips, as if completely at peace. But then… you moved.

Jaheira’s eyes widened slightly as you shifted into an elegant stance. Your movements flowed like water as you began to circle the dummy, your humming never faltering. With a sharp exhale, you struck, your palm landing against the wooden frame with a resounding crack. The force of the blow was shocking, but it was the grace with which you followed through that truly caught Jaheira’s attention.

You spun on your heel, delivering a precise kick that sent the dummy teetering. Before it could recover, you swept its legs out from under it and dropped into a low stance, your hands poised as if prepared to grapple an invisible foe. Then, you transitioned into a smooth jiu-jitsu hold, manipulating the dummy’s limbs with practiced ease.

Jaheira stood frozen, equal parts impressed and bemused, as she watched you flip the dummy over your shoulder and pin it to the ground. Throughout it all, you never stopped humming, your tune as calm and unwavering as a lullaby.

When you finally stood, brushing your hands off with a satisfied sigh, Jaheira stepped forward, breaking the silence.

“I see you’ve been keeping secrets,” she said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to temper the accusation.

You jumped, spinning to face her, your cheeks flushing crimson. “Jaheira! Beloved, I—uh—it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” she replied, arching an elegant brow. “Because it looks like you’ve been hiding some very impressive skills. Care to explain?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very self-conscious under her discerning gaze. “It’s just… something I’ve been working on. For fun. And… well, to be a little less helpless.”

Jaheira crossed her arms, her expression softening just slightly.

“Helpless? You? Hardly. But I admit, I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who practiced martial arts in secret.”

You glanced down, your voice barely above a mumble. “I didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it.”

Jaheira sighed, stepping closer. “You are being ridiculous.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, her tone firm but kind. “There’s no shame in honing your skills. In fact…” She gestured to the dummy. “Your form was impressive, but your follow-through could use some work. That spin was elegant, but you left yourself open.”

You blinked up at her, surprised. “You were impressed?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But there is always room for improvement.”

Your embarrassment gave way to a shy smile. “Would you… show me? How to improve, I mean.”

Jaheira chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to ask twice, my love.” She moved to stand beside you, her movements deliberate and sure. “Now, watch closely. When you step into the spin, keep your guard up like this. It will make it harder for your opponent to counter.”

As she demonstrated, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest. Jaheira’s approval meant more to you than you had realized, and her willingness to teach only deepened your admiration for her.

After a few tries, you managed to replicate her movement, earning a small nod of satisfaction from her. “Better,” she said. “Now, again.”

You laughed softly, your earlier embarrassment forgotten as you focused on her instructions. Jaheira’s steady presence, combined with her gentle encouragement, made you feel capable—stronger than you ever had before.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, glancing at her as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Jaheira met your gaze, her eyes warm. “You don’t need to thank me. Just… promise me you won’t hide your strengths again. You’re far more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “I promise.”

“Good,” she said, a hint of playfulness creeping into her tone. “Now, let’s see if you can manage that spin without stumbling this time.”

This was so fun to write and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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vesearlee · 2 days ago

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──── 𝑺𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰𝒏𝒌

To treat an ailment, you first had to identify a cause and enact treatment to better the patient’s physical or mental state. After years and years of knowing him, it was lucky you were the best doc-tor around to care for him.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 2.0k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff, caretaking 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ── @sgt-seabass 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒 ── American Beauty by Thomas Newman 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I am a caretaker by nature, and this just wouldn't leave my mind, like at all.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Close your eyes." • G5 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Always there when they need them ── MASTERLIST ── Gingerbread Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Doing Their Makeup • G2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Covered With [Makeup] • B1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Deep Breathing • N4 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Fairy Lights • I1 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt/Comfort Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Taking their mind off of it • N2 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt and Comfort Bingo (@hurtcomfort-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Caretaking • N2 ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Taking care of the other • O4 ── MASTERLIST ── Language of Flowers Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Drawing in between scars ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Being taken care of ── MASTERLIST

─── 𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

The evening was slow — echoed car horns and shouts from people in the streets below quietened by the height of Zayne’s apartment. It had only been twenty minutes since you received a text from him stating simply that he would be home shortly; no emojis or tone conveyed, which only meant that it was a long, long shift.

Surgeries were abundant, you knew this for sure as you watched Zayne come home for only a few hours at a time, wiped and exhausted to only get a few hours of rest before he would be called back for another critical case or life threatening surgery.

It was worrisome, and the tight feeling in your chest as you observed his hunched shoulders and the growing, dark bags beneath his hazel eyes only worsened. You knew that his reserves were beyond depleted, and the determination to make him put himself first — for once — was overwhelming.

With that in mind, you hummed and hawed, deliberating how best to pause the world he lived in, just for a little while. “Candles…?” The clink of glass jars against each other filled the silence of his bedroom. You looked around you briefly, stopping only to stare at the comfortable couch that was pushed up against the floor to ceiling window, and it hit you. “Candles,” you repeated more certainly, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

The couch would serve as a resting haven — piled high with cushions, pillows, and blankets of the fluffiest and softest varieties. The warmth would be irresistible to Zayne, it was one of the few weaknesses he willingly showed to you, and there would be no use in letting that information go to waste. Beside the couch was a small coffee table, where you placed your tools of choice.

A simple array of make-up brushes and a selection of eyeshadow colour palettes sat neatly in place — the thought of the ebony ink drifting across Zayne’s pale skin made you shiver with anticipation. It was yet another weakness of his: the gentle touch or brush of your fingers over any part of his body, but most notably his neck and jaw.

“You’re gentle,” he’d said once, and in an undertone, low enough you almost didn’t hear, continued with, “more than I would be with myself; more than I deserve.”

That train of thought earned him a hard kiss to silence the words.

From then on, the thought of decorating Zayne’s skin with designs and patterns grew more appealing. Nothing too brash and large to overtake your canvas, but delicate and beautiful, to match the wound fibers of his existence.

The flicker from behind the curtain caught your eye, and the warm white lights that cascaded down from the ceiling grew sharper. “I could use those…” You stepped closer towards the curtain, and gently moved a few hanging strands out from behind the fabric. “As my light source.”

A click from the lock of the front door caught your attention, then the soft click of dress shoes on tile followed soon after. “Darling?”

“I’m here,” you called, rushing from his bedroom and then into the hall to greet him. Only you paused in slight shock — it was so much worse than you could have imagined.

Zayne was drawn, his face pale from exhaustion; the light in his eyes reflected the soft lighting of the living room rather than absorbing it, a hard sight to see. The briefcase in his hand was placed onto the hall table with a solid thump — no doubt burdened with endless paperwork, and the coat over his arm was placed haphazardly on the hook. He smiled, a genuine though strained gesture, and you walked forward.

“Are you okay?” Your hands held the outer side of his elbows, and you tried to ignore how cold he felt, or how he seemed to lean into the touch far too desperately. “What happened, c’mon, come with me.”

He followed wordlessly, until his bedroom came into sight. “No– No, I… Don’t want to sleep yet.” There was a slight tug back against your grip, and you frowned at him before opening your mouth to retort. “I have missed you,” he cut in before you could speak. “I want to just sit with you, please. Not to talk, just to… To be with you.”

The crack in your heart rapidly spread from its precarious place to the core of your being, shattering you from the inside out at his plea. It wasn’t so much as the words that you grew emotional over, but the utter need in them — Zayne never, ever voiced a need beyond what was acceptable in your relationship, and having known him for so long you could read his queues, but that was all washed away.

“Of course,” you replied quietly, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his scarred knuckles. “Of course, baby. C’mon, I have a surprise for you.”

The mention of a surprise allowed a slight bit of life to flicker in Zayne’s eyes, and you laughed softly as you pulled him towards his bedroom. “Do you want to change?” Silence answered your question, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found his eyes half lidded. He was almost asleep standing up. “Oh, Zayne.”

Carefully, you pulled him towards the end of his bed and helped him change from his rumpled work attire to more comfortable pajamas. A henley shirt and grey slack fit loosely on his tall frame, and you watched with a soft smile as he rubbed at his eyes. “What’s the surprise?” he asked tiredly, staring at you through one opened eye.

“Over here,” you said, gesturing at the couch. “Come sit, and you can relax with me, just for a little bit.”

“Mm.” His slippered feet shuffled over the dark carpet, and he settled on the couch before he looked up at you tiredly. “Can I…”

“You can rest your eyes, sweetheart, close them,” you whispered quietly. “Just relax and let me work, alright?”

It was by the grace of his trust in you that his tired eyes slipped closed slowly, and his head tilted backwards to rest against the back of the couch. The quiet clink of your tools didn’t even startle him, the rise of his chest remained slow, deep, and steady — if you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed he was already fast asleep.

“I’m going to start now, it may tickle,” you warned quietly, and you shook the bottle of liquid once, twice, before unscrewing the cap. He arched a brow in curiosity at the clicking noise, but he didn’t open his eyes. “But I need you to sit still.”

Zayne didn’t reply with words, only a slight nod, and with that as your consent, you gently lowered yourself onto his lap. Your thighs rested either side of his, while the back of them brushed against the fabric of his sweatpants as you settled down.

Whether it was by instinct or need, Zayne’s hands moved from the couch cushions to hold your hips, the pad of his thumb rubbing up underneath the shirt you wore to touch your skin. It sent a small thrill down your spine, but you ignored the feeling, intent on focusing on what lay before you.

With his chin up and head relaxed backwards, you could stare at your canvas more thoroughly to map your plan. “A snowflake here,” you murmured, brushing the tip of your index finger just above his collar bone. “Another one here, maybe here too,” you continued, enjoying the feel of him shivering at your touch.

“Don’t tease,” Zayne croaked, his voice hoarse and strained now that he had a chance to rest it.

“I’m not!” The tip of the brush moved easily over his skin, and you bit your lip at the sound that escaped his part lips — a choked, surprised gasp that made his ears flush pink. “Just sit still, and let me work.”

“Fine,” he breathed, squeezing your hips once.

The silence swelled around you, but it was comforting to feel the presence of his sleepy demeanour while you helped him relax. The occasional sniff or shiver going ignored as you painted over your canvas, the tickle of the brush fibers minute against the cool, inky liquid.

It was only when you managed to finally complete the final line that you were able to sit back and admire your work.

Snowflakes of all shapes, sizes, and designs artfully decorated the curve of his neck and down to his collarbone. They stretched with the slow deep breaths from his lungs, and every time he cleared his throat, the elongated snowflake shifted with the movement of his Adam's apple. “I think that part’s done, love.”

“Mm.”

You reached over the arm of the couch to grab the palettes of eyeshadow and a selection of precise brushes. “Time to colour now, okay? You still with me?”

Zayne’s eyelids fluttered, then one opened a slither. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

“Okay, okay. Yessir.”

The brush of the softer fibers made him hum contentedly, and you resumed your painting — blues and greens populated his skin more than any other colour, but no dark shades could be seen. All of the pigments were only shadowed with saturation, it was a testament to his growth and grown control of his evol that you strived to capture, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the progress of it.

Before long, a masterpiece was spread from the very tops of either shoulder, towards the lower part of his jaw. Each line represented a battle or a memory, either sweet or melancholy in nature, and you smiled as you read the story spread over his skin.

“I think it’s done,” you declared quietly, and you reached out to brush the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip. “You can wake up now.”

“No.” A slight huff made his chest heave, and he kept his eyes closed. “Don’t stop, please, it was nice.”

You stared at him, the light from the cascading source beside him gave the snowflakes the illusion of moving, dancing over the skin as he breathed deep. “I mean, I can…”

The coolness of his palm startled you, though you didn’t drop it. A small scar on the outer side of his hand, down from the pinky, was particularly pink in the yellowed light. They were old, far older than what would be thought as irritation, and you nodded decisively. “Okay, I’ll keep going.”

The brush in hand felt familiar as you held his hand up to your face, and you started the motions over his skin, careful to not put too much of the inky black over the raised pink line.

Zayne’s hand suddenly jerked out of your hold, and you gasped. “What the–?”

“That tickled,” he said simply, one eye open and bore into your face. “Be gentle.”

“I am,” you insisted, smiling nervously. “Just sit still.” Zayne rolled his eyes and returned to resting once more, allowing you the chance to continue, only this time you held his hand tighter in your grip. “Thank you.”

“Mmph.”

You continued to work, drawing circles where the contours of his fine muscles allowed, until a semblance of a winter scene took shape. A small snowman with a large, round base sat atop the line of his scar, while two of the smaller scars were strategically placed where the arms of the snowman would be, only, you drew three small lines either side to create fingers.

A small top hat was decorated with a snowflake, while an artistically curved breeze threatened to blow it off of his head. In the background were mounds and mounds of snow, with snow angels carved into the larger, lined lumps.

“What do you think?” you asked quietly, holding up Zayne’s own hand to his face.

He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes, and he smiled back at you. “It is adorable, much like you.” His free hand grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you forward, gently coaxing you close. “Thank you.”

Your lips met his in a soft, chaste kiss, one you wished would last forever.

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v3nusxsky · 3 days ago

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hello! can i put a request in for a smutty rough!daddy!lesso and a shy!gentle!reader? Maybe some enchanted strap (reader receiving) and oral (lesso receiving) and lesso breaking her rough role a bit because she’s too in love with her gentle, quiet reader? We don’t often hear about lesso’s side of pleasure and thought it would be cute🥰🥰

Tonight’s for you 18+

*Authors note ~ gentle Leonora doesn’t get enough appreciation tbh but we also love daddy lesso sooooo. Sorry for the lack of full length gifts the past few days. Life is hitting me hard and I guess I’ve been slacking on writing. Hope this hits right*

Trigger warnings~ rough daddy lesso, sub r, enchanted strap (r), oral (l), praise kink with a sprinkle of degradation, stressed Leo, sorta free use reader, hair pulling, manhandling r, begging, breeding kink (hardly there but yeah)

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

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It’s a well known fact that Leonora Lesso is a busy woman. Running the whole school for Nevers was no easy job. It’s often accompanied by lots of drama and paperwork and never ending meetings. It’s common for her to return to her chambers and work on paperwork till the early hours of the morning. Stressed and frustrated. Of course it’s not healthy, you’ve highlighted that time after time only for your lover to ignore it. A lot of the time, you could only get her to take a break by being needy. And even then, that only worked half the time. Which is exactly how you wound up in this position.

Leonora was wound tight after a rough day, storming into the shared room, heading straight to her desk, throwing her cane angrily to the floor causing you to jump. “Here pet” she practically growled causing you to fly into action and place yourself where she requested, right by her side. “I’ve had a long day. I just need you to be a good slut and fix it for daddy” she murmured to you watching as you nodded along yet failed to move. Clearly not what she wanted. “Get on your fucking knees then!” Rather ungracefully you stumbled to your knees due to being yanked by the hair. The stinging pain causing tears to pool in your wide eyes, exactly what she wanted.

“Under the desk” she demanded as she used her magic to remove her trousers and underwear, glistening folds exposed to your prying eyes. Not needing to be told twice you settled into your position under the desk eager to please the wound up woman. Immediately, you set to work, lips trailing along her thighs, nipping and sucking the path to where she wanted you the most. “Stop teasing pet” she growled impatiently hands moving to your head to tug you closer, the scent of her hit you like a fright train causing you to diving straight in.

You absolutely adore the sounds only you can pull from the great Dean of Evil, it fills you with pride that you could do that. So you decided to eat her out like a starved woman at an all you can eat buffet. It wasn’t long before your whole lower face was soaked in her arousal as you spelt her name win your tongue on her aching bundle of nerves. The need to make her cum for you was overwhelming, even as your tongue tired you didn’t dare slow down your assault on her cunt.

Her grip on your hair got tighter as she climbed further and further to the edge before crashing over it with a cry of your name, “such a good fucking pet. Good girl” she mewled as her hips bucked wildly against your face, desperately trying to prolong the pleasure you so wonderfully provided every time. “Up. Up right now” she growled desperately tugging you by your hair from underneath the desk to her lap.

“Daddy” you whimpered as she crashed her lips to yours with passion. You both fell into a dance of tongues as old as time with easy. You immediately became pliant in her lap as she moved her hands all over your body. Mapping it out like it was the first time she touched you, distracting you from her magic working wonders beneath you. You wriggled with need on her lap as you desperately sought for fiction on your aching clit. “Daddy?” You whimpered finally feeling it. “Oh yes pet, you’re mine and I fully intend to show you. More than my play thing. You’re my girl.”

With only an ease she could, Lesso was quick to bend you over her desk, trailing the head of the enchanted strap over your messy cunt, occasionally letting the head bump against your clit. “Such a needy girl. My needy slut looking so good bent over for me” she murmured before allowing the strap to sink into your awaiting core, inch by inch you took her with ease. The growl she let out feeling your organic warmth was certainly addictive. Both of you needing more. “Please daddy. Fuck me please.”

Hearing your little whines begging her for more was all she needed to pull out until just the tip remained before slamming back into you with some force. “God pet, your pretty pussy fees so good around me. So mine.” She grunted as she settled into her own rhythm of slamming into you. But soon enough the need to see your face was overwhelming, the need to kiss you as she rutted into you was more overwhelming than the pleasure you provided her so she pulled out, lifting you up to carry you to the bed.

The new position giving her ample places to kiss nip and suck while watching you being hit with wave after wave of pleasure. “God I love you. My girl. So pretty for me” she grunted as you continued to plead for more. Desperate to cum, your pussy milking the enchanted strap on for all it was worth. “So good for me. My good girl. My girls close aren’t you? Gonna cum for daddy angel?” Leonora grunted, fighting to keep her rhythm. “Please please please. Wanna cum daddy. Please daddy fill me up. Wanna cum for you” you mewled clawing at her back in a desperate attempt to get her closer. With ease only she can bring, you both came together as one, filling you with her seed and fucking it closer to your cervix as you rode the waves of pleasure out.

It’s a blur when she slips from your now satisfied hole, immediately falling into the aftercare routine that works the best. Cleaning your sensitive folds before conjuring a drink of freshly child water before you wound up in her arms. Her fingers trailing through your locks of hair gently scratching at your scalp soothingly. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?” Leonora murmured gently to you causing you to sleepily nod your head. You were perfect. “I just love my sweet girl so much. You are so perfect sweetheart. Such a good girl.”

Word count~ 1024

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #lady lesso #leonora lesso #lady lesso x reader #lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #v3nusxsky daily presents #lady lesso x you #leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso x reader #daddy lesso #dean of evil smut #dean of evil x reader #dean of evil

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spencerrsmopbucket · 23 hours ago

Text

Tides of Venom (3) | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You. the Snake of Seven, had a knack for being efficient. You'd do what needed to be done to get out of the arena alive. But is it that simple?

Warnings: Death. Brutality, basically. The reader being the Snake of Seven.

(NOTE: I am writing the arena and the games differently. It won't be exactly like the movie. The arena isn't a clock, for one. It's very similar to the one in Katniss's first games -- except more water.)

The waiting area was oppressively quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the training facility. Gone were the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of exertion. Here, the silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint hum of Capitol machinery and the soft clicks of heels against polished floors as attendants flitted in and out, making final adjustments to the tributes’ outfits.

You sat in the corner of the room, perched on a small bench as you tightened the laces on your boots. The gear they’d given you was lightweight but durable, designed for speed and agility rather than brute force. Perfect. The Capitol had spared no expense in ensuring every tribute had what suited them. Something practical. You cracked your neck as you closed your eyes, taking a deep slow breath.

You were strapping in. You were becoming her.

Across the room, Reid paced nervously, his fingers twitching at his sides. His dark hair was slicked back, but a few strands had already fallen loose, sticking to his forehead. He looked up at you every so often, his expression a mix of fear and determination. You could see it in his eyes: he knew he didn’t stand a chance out there. Not against the Careers. Not against the arena itself. And certainly not against you.

“You need to stop pacing,” you said sharply, not looking up from your boots. “You’re wasting energy.”

He stopped mid-step, glancing over at you with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. It’s just… hard not to think about what’s coming.”

You finally looked up, your cold e/c eyes locking onto his. “Thinking won’t help you now. You either act, or you don’t. That’s the only thing that matters in this arena." You say coldly, standing up.

Reid nodded, though you could tell your words hadn’t reassured him. He sat on the bench opposite you, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “You’re not scared?” he asked after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head, studying him. Scared? No, that wasn’t the right word. Fear had no place in your mind anymore. Not after everything you’d been through. “Fear’s a luxury I can’t afford,” you said finally. “Neither can you.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked away. “I’ll try.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. Reid wasn’t going to last long. He was smart, sure. Probably the smartest person in the room. But intelligence only got you so far in the Games. The Careers would tear him apart the moment they got the chance. That thought settled heavily in your mind, twisting uncomfortably in your chest. You’d made up your mind days ago, but now, sitting here with him, it felt more real than ever.

In your own interest and in the best interest of Reid, you would take him down first. Before anyone else touched him. In some twisted way, in a way that you knew his parents wouldn't understand, it was an act of mercy. An act of kindness. You would be quick, keeping it as painless as possible.

Maybe you would take the coward's way and kill him while he was asleep. Maybe you would creep up behind him and snap his neck. Whatever it was, it would be your first act in the arena. You weren't going to let one of the bloodthirsty careers, especially Cashmere, who had shown an interest, get to him.

He was too soft, too gentle, too kind.

The waiting room’s oppressive stillness was broken by the sharp sound of the door opening. A Capitol attendant stepped inside, her polished smile as jarring as it was false. Her words were clipped, her tone professional, like this was just another day at work for her.

“It’s time,” she announced.

You stood immediately, tightening the last strap on your gear. The air around you grew heavier, the tension suffocating as you glanced over at Reid. He hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides before he rose to his feet. His face was pale, his jaw set, but his trembling hands gave him away.

“Stay close,” you said again, your voice firm. It wasn’t a suggestion.

He nodded quickly, following behind you as the attendant led you into the hallway. The stark, polished walls glimmered under artificial light, the hum of Capitol machinery filling the air. Your boots clicked rhythmically against the floor, a steady beat counting down the seconds until everything changed.

The launch pads came into view, their cold metal surfaces gleaming with a sterile finality. Capitol technicians bustled around, making last-minute adjustments and murmuring instructions you ignored. The attendant gestured toward your designated platform, and you stepped onto it without hesitation.

The metal beneath your boots was icy, a jarring contrast to the heat simmering in your veins. The glass cylinder descended around you, sealing you inside with an eerie hiss. Across the room, you caught one last look at Reid as he stepped into his own tube. He glanced your way, his eyes wide, searching for reassurance you didn’t have to offer.

As you started ascending, you once more closed your eyes, speaking to yourself in your head.

Don't be merciful.

Don't slow down.

Don't show weakness. For the love of God, don't show pain either.

Get what you need, nothing extra. Don't waste time.

Be smart. Always be one step ahead.

Ignore Finnick Odair.

When your final thought rang through, you opened your eyes. You were being lifted into the arena.

The arena was a brilliantly crafted nightmare. It was a perfect circle, with the Cornucopia perched on a central island surrounded by water. The golden horn gleamed blindingly under the sun, its shadow stretching across the pristine white sand that encircled it.

The water surrounding the Cornucopia wasn’t the refreshing blue of a tropical paradise. It was a dark, ominous teal, its surface deceptively calm, rippling faintly under the weight of the tension in the air. Beyond the water, the arena’s outer edge formed a ring of dense jungle, the foliage impossibly thick and teeming with life. Towering trees with unnaturally large leaves cast deep shadows, and the air buzzed with the constant sound of unseen insects.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked around.

The jungle beyond the water loomed like a living wall, an unrelenting mass of greens and browns that seemed to move and breathe on its own. Thick vines twisted like snakes around tree trunks, and the undergrowth was so dense you could barely make out what lay beyond the first few feet. The shadows within the trees were darker than they should have been, as though the jungle itself was hiding secrets, waiting for the right moment to reveal them.

The air was heavy with the oppressive heat, already making it hard to breathe. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck as you stood still, your boots firmly planted on your platform. The sound of the jungle’s distant life—the chirps, growls, and rustles—melded with the faint lapping of water against the shore. It was a cacophony of unease, designed to unsettle even the strongest minds.

You shifted your focus to the Cornucopia, your sharp eyes scanning the scattered supplies. Weapons glinted in the sunlight, their edges polished to a lethal shine. Packs of various sizes were scattered haphazardly across the sandy island, their contents unknown but undoubtedly essential for survival. The tantalizing glimmer of resources was a trap—a lure for the desperate and the greedy.

To your left, Reid stood frozen on his platform, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in the scene. His wide-eyed terror was palpable even at a distance, and you clenched your jaw. You had no room for distractions. Reid was a dead man walking; it was only a matter of when, not if.

The countdown began.

A booming voice echoed through the arena, counting down from sixty, and the tension became suffocating. Your hands curled into fists, every muscle in your body coiled and ready to spring. Each second that ticked away felt like an eternity, the sound of the clock reverberating in your ears. You inhaled deeply, steadying your nerves. You had one chance, one opportunity to grab what you needed and retreat.

“Forty-five,” the voice droned.

You assessed the tributes, your mind calculating distances, reactions, and potential threats. Cashmere stood with a smirk on her face, her hand flexing at her side like she was already envisioning her next kill. Finnick’s expression was unreadable, though his stance was loose, casual, and far too confident. Brutus practically vibrated with anticipation, his eyes locked on the Cornucopia like a predator eyeing its prey.

You noted their placements and trajectories, marking who would go where. You weren’t the strongest or the fastest, but you were smarter, more calculated. You wouldn’t waste time vying for weapons with the Careers—those were theirs for the taking. You needed supplies, something to sustain you in the hellscape that awaited.

“Thirty.”

The seconds blurred together now, each heartbeat syncing with the countdown. Your eyes darted back to the Cornucopia, mentally tracing a path to the nearest pack that wouldn’t put you in the Careers’ immediate line of fire. A medium-sized bag lay just off-center, near a long, slender blade half-buried in the sand. Close enough to risk. Far enough to escape.

“Fifteen.”

Reid shifted nervously, glancing toward you as if looking for direction. You didn’t return the glance. He needed to make his own choices now. The arena wouldn’t wait for you to hold his hand.

“Ten.”

The sound of your own breathing drowned everything else out. Your chest rose and fell rhythmically as you prepared to sprint. Your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to move, to act.

“Nine.”

The sunlight glinted off the Cornucopia, a final cruel beacon of hope for those foolish enough to think they’d find safety there.

“Eight.”

Your muscles tensed, coiled tight like a spring about to release.

“Seven.”

This was it.

“Six.”

No hesitation.

“Five.”

Every second counted.

“Four.”

A decision was a life.

“Three.”

The world stilled.

“Two.”

The game began.

“One.”

And then, the gong rang.

The instant the gong rang, you propelled yourself forward, your boots slamming against the metal platform as you launched into motion. The sand was firmer than you expected beneath your feet, but you didn’t let it slow you down. Your eyes stayed fixed on your target: the medium-sized pack lying just off-center from the Cornucopia, its muted green fabric almost blending into the sand.

Around you, chaos erupted. Tributes surged toward the golden horn or scattered into the jungle, their movements frantic and desperate. The sharp clanging of metal meeting metal filled the air as the Careers, with their practiced ease, went straight for the weapons. The sounds of screaming began almost immediately, some cut short, others turning into gurgles as blood spilled into the pristine sand.

You tuned it out. All of it. Your focus was singular.

The pack was closer now, and you adjusted your path to grab the blade lying beside it. You skidded to a halt, crouching low as your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife. Its weight was perfect—light enough for precision but heavy enough to do damage. You sheathed it quickly, slinging the bag over your shoulder in one fluid motion before turning back the way you came.

You darted away from the Cornucopia, weaving between other tributes as the chaos continued to unfold. A boy from District 10 lunged at you with a spear, his face contorted with fear and desperation. You sidestepped him easily, slamming the heel of your boot into his knee as you passed. He crumpled to the ground with a scream, but you didn’t look back.

The jungle loomed ahead, its thick shadows promising cover but also danger. You pushed forward, your breath steady, your movements calculated. You didn’t hesitate as you plunged into the dense foliage, the cool shade of the trees enveloping you like a second skin. The sound of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia faded slightly, muffled by the jungle’s oppressive canopy.

You didn’t stop running until you were deep enough that the sounds of violence were just an echo. Finally, you slowed, your breaths coming hard and fast as you ducked behind a massive tree trunk. You slid the pack from your shoulder, quickly unzipping it to assess your supplies.

A waterskin. A few packs of dried meat. A coil of rope. A small first-aid kit.

Not bad. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get you through the first day. You slipped the knife from its sheath, holding it tightly as you scanned your surroundings. The jungle was eerily alive, its sounds louder now that you’d stopped moving. Insects buzzed relentlessly, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures moving through the underbrush.

Your mind raced as you considered your next move. The Careers would consolidate their power at the Cornucopia, picking off stragglers who lingered too long. You had to stay ahead of them, keep moving, and find a vantage point to observe the arena’s layout. Knowledge was your best weapon here, even more than the blade in your hand.

Your eyes narrowed as you thought of Reid. He’d run in the opposite direction, veering off toward the water’s edge when the gong sounded. He hadn’t even tried for supplies, his fear and lack of instinct driving him to flee. You exhaled sharply. You couldn’t think about him now. Not yet.

A faint rustle nearby snapped you back to the present. You tensed, the knife in your hand at the ready. Your heart pounded in your chest as you strained your ears, trying to determine whether it was an animal or another tribute.

“Come out,” you said coldly, your voice steady despite the tension in your muscles. “I don’t have time for games.”

The underbrush parted slowly, revealing…

...a woman, a Victor you didn't recognize, her wide brown eyes filled with terror. Her hair was tied back messily, dirt streaking her face. She held no weapon, just her trembling hands raised slightly in a gesture of surrender. She was from one of the outlying districts—you recognized her as the girl from 11, the one with the quick hands during training.

She froze when she saw you, her chest heaving as though she’d been running for her life, which, in a way, she had.

You didn’t lower your knife. “What do you want?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the blade in your hand, then back to your face. Finally, she whispered, “Please... don’t.”

Your grip tightened on the hilt, but you didn’t make a move toward her. Your mind calculated the risks. She wasn’t a threat—not yet. If you let her go, she could alert others to your position. If you killed her now, it would be cleaner, simpler, less risky in the long run.

But her trembling frame, her pleading eyes—it twisted something in your chest. A pang of something unfamiliar. You shoved it down. Compassion had no place in this arena.

“Turn around,” you ordered sharply. “Walk away, and don’t let me see you again.”

She hesitated for a moment, her body rigid with fear. Then, with a quick nod, she backed away, keeping her eyes on you until she disappeared into the foliage.

You exhaled heavily, letting your arm drop as the knife remained at your side. A small part of you cursed your decision, but the rest—the part that still clung to a shred of humanity—felt relief.

You slid the knife back into its sheath and adjusted the pack on your shoulder. The jungle wasn’t going to wait for you, and neither would the other tributes. You needed to find higher ground, something that would give you a better vantage point to scope out the arena.

The faint sound of running water caught your attention, and you followed it cautiously, keeping low and moving quickly. The dense jungle opened up slightly, revealing a narrow stream cutting through the terrain. You knelt by the water, cupping your hands to take a quick drink, your ears tuned to every sound around you.

As you rose, your thoughts returned to the bloodbath. The Careers would be regrouping by now, and anyone who had tried to challenge them was likely dead. Reid’s face flashed in your mind again, pale and terrified as he’d sprinted toward the water’s edge.

He wouldn’t survive the night.

Your jaw clenched as you forced the thought away. Survival came first. Attachments—emotional or otherwise—were liabilities. You tightened the straps on your pack and began moving upstream, your eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

The arena was waking up now, and you could feel it. The air grew thicker, the sounds of the jungle louder, more chaotic. The Capitol’s hand was everywhere here, manipulating the environment to push you, trap you, force you into confrontation.

And yet, as the sun began its slow descent, you felt a flicker of resolve deep within you. You weren’t here to survive. You were here to win.

Whatever it took.

Hours had passed. The sound of the cannon was like a beautiful melody, reminding you of those that you wouldn't have to take care of. You were up a tree, glaring down onto the ground, waiting for someone to drop down on.

Alerting the others of your position was stupid. You wouldn't move until you had to. You wouldn't move until there was someone to get rid of, to get you closer to home.

Your bag hung on the branch securely as you sat next to it, your expression mildly bored. You prayed to yourself that Reid hadn't died yet.

As if on cue, you heard his voice.

Pleading.

Then, you heard Cashmere's.

Your body tensed immediately, muscles coiling like a spring as you shifted silently on the branch. The sound of Reid’s voice, frantic and desperate, cut through the humid air, sharp enough to make your chest tighten.

“No, please,” he begged, his voice trembling but still carrying that faint, foolish hope that someone might show mercy. “I don’t have anything you want. Just let me go.”

Cashmere’s laugh followed, low and cruel. It echoed through the jungle like a predator’s growl. “Let you go? Oh, sweetheart, it’s not about what you have. It’s about making a statement.”

You inched forward on the branch, your e/c eyes narrowing as you spotted them through the foliage below. Reid was on his knees, hands raised defensively in front of him, his face pale and streaked with sweat. Cashmere stood over him, a spear glinting in her hand, her posture casual yet predatory. She was savoring this moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with its prey.

“Please,” Reid tried again, his voice cracking. “I’m not a threat to you.”

“That’s the problem,” Cashmere said smoothly, twirling the spear. “You’re too easy, Reid. No challenge. No fun. But I’ll admit...” She tilted her head, smirking. “Your fear is so fun.”

Your grip tightened on your knife as you watched, anger simmering in your chest. Cashmere wasn’t killing him for strategy or supplies—she was doing it for the thrill, the spectacle. It was pointless. Cruel.

And you weren’t going to let her have the satisfaction.

Carefully, you secured your pack and shifted your weight, positioning yourself on the branch directly above them. Your mind worked quickly, calculating the angle and force you’d need to take her down cleanly. You couldn’t afford a drawn-out fight—not with other tributes potentially nearby.

“Any last words?” Cashmere purred, raising the spear with a flourish.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, pushing off the branch. “Mine.”

You dropped like a shadow, landing squarely on her back with all your weight. The impact sent her stumbling forward, the spear clattering to the ground as you wrapped an arm around her throat, yanking her off balance. She thrashed wildly, her hands clawing at you, but your grip was ironclad.

“Reid, move!” you barked, your voice sharp.

He scrambled back, wide-eyed, as you wrestled Cashmere to the ground. Her nails raked against your skin, drawing blood, but you didn’t flinch. With a quick, precise motion, you drove your knife into her side, aiming just below her ribs. Her body went rigid beneath you, a strangled gasp escaping her lips before she collapsed.

You heard garbled speech as crimson poured from her mouth, her eyes still wide in shock. Moments later, they closed in what seemed to be exhaustion.

The cannon boomed a second later, the sound reverberating through the jungle like a judge’s gavel.

You shoved her body off you and stood, breathing hard as you turned to face Reid. He was staring at you, his face pale, his hands trembling. “You... you saved me.”

You barely registered the words before your gaze snapped to Reid, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. But as you took a step forward, your instincts screamed at you. You were being watched.

A shadow darted behind a nearby tree, too subtle for Reid to notice, but not for you. Your heart sank as another figure emerged from the foliage.

It was the girl with the dark hair, the one who had been trailing behind you both. You didn't have time to think. She’d seen everything—Cashmere's death, your unguarded moment. She wouldn’t hesitate.

Reid was too distracted by the scene unfolding before him, too overwhelmed by the adrenaline and shock. You had to act fast.

Before the girl had a chance to make her move, you whirled around to face Reid, your hand snaking out like a viper. You grabbed his neck in a brutal grip, yanking him toward you with surprising ease. His eyes widened in panic, but he didn’t scream. He just stared at you, trying to process the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“W-what—what are you doing?” Reid gasped, his voice trembling.

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” you hissed, your face cold and emotionless. “I'm sorry. But this is the easiest way. I'm doing it for you.”

His face contorted with confusion, his body struggling weakly against your iron grip. His hands clawed at your arm, but it was futile. You could feel his pulse racing under your fingers, his fear palpable.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t... please don’t do this. I trust you.”

But the trust was meaningless. You had your orders, your mission. And that mission wasn’t to protect him. It was to survive.

With a swift motion, you twisted his head to the side. His body went limp instantly, the bones in his neck snapping like a twig, the life leaving his eyes in an instant.

The cannon fired immediately after. The sound deafening, final.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you stood over his lifeless form, your hands slick with blood. It didn’t matter how much your heart ached in that moment. It had to be ended before he suffered a worse fate. The worry was setting you off focus -- and even if you'd tried to save him, to bring him home, it wouldn't have worked. You couldn't act as well as Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. It would've cost you too much.

You stood over Reid’s body, your chest heaving with a mixture of exhaustion and something darker—something you didn’t want to acknowledge. But then, as you looked down at him, something unexpected happened.

A single tear, clear and cold, slipped from the corner of your eye and ran down your cheek. It was slow at first, as if the reality of what you had just done was finally settling in. The warmth of it contrasted sharply with the coldness of your heart, and for the first time in a long while, you felt the weight of your actions.

You quickly wiped it away, as if the motion could erase the moment. But it stayed with you, the faint trace of moisture on your skin, lingering like a whisper of the person you used to be—the one who might have hesitated, the one who might have saved him.

But you couldn’t afford that weakness now.

With one last glance at Reid, you turned and disappeared into the jungle, the tear still burning a path on your face, even as you moved further away from everything that had just happened. The silence swallowed you whole, and the only thing left was the sound of the jungle and the fading memory of a decision made in the name of survival.

#the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #panem #district 11 #district 12 #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair imagine #johanna mason #the rebellion #cashmere and gloss #cashmere #gloss #thg #thg fanfiction

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theaceofarrows · 2 days ago

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Imagine for a moment that instead of taking them back to when their parents were in high school. The pocket watch took Red and Chloe back to the day Bridget lost the rest of her family.

And listening to the screams and devastation...Red has a moment of thinking ...oh heck...this is it....THIS what pushed my mother over the edge to be 'heartless'...It wasn't JUST the prank, it was LOSING HER HEART, as she lost the REST of our family....

I know I say this a lot, but I can't imagine all the emotions that Red would be going through in that moment when she sees that.

Red is the type of person who jumps straight in when she needs to defend someone (like she did for young Bridget when the VKs showed up in Life Is Sweeter), but it wouldn't be surprising if she froze before she could do much. It wouldn't be a stretch if Red thought the watch had messed something up and was somehow making her see things because what she's seeing can't be real, can it?

Her father is the dead King of Hearts who was whispered to have been killed by her mother. The dead King of Hearts, whose name she doesn't even know because it's outlawed from being spoken and is a crime punishable by death. That can't be her father, can it?

She is an only child. She doesn't and has never had brothers or sisters. Her mother is tight-lipped about the time before Red was born, yes, but surely, she would have mentioned if she had other children before Red that she so clearly loved. Wouldn't she?

I have no doubt that after a few moments of the initial shock wearing off that Red WOULD run at the guards to stop them, but by then, despite Red kicking, punching, and tackling as many guards as she can, even with Chloe using her sword to help, they're two teenagers against dozens of trained men, it's too late.

The man that's apparently Red's father has been knocked unconscious, surrounded by the bodies of men he's killed or injured. Her young siblings kick and scream and cry for their parents, as they're being carried away, but no matter how hard they try, they can't win against grown men. All of this happens while her mother is being held back by multiple guards, screaming, demanding, and pleading for them to release her family. It's no use.

When Auradon's guards have left with her family and Red sees her mom on her knees, sobbing, and absolutely broken, for the first time, Red understands the grief that's followed her mother for sixteen years.

Chloe is having so much conflict. She's spent her whole life knowing exactly who the good guys are and who the bad guys are. So now why does she feel sick to her stomach after witnessing what Auradon, the good guys just did to the bad guys? After witnessing something that her parents supported?

And all of this is within just the first hour. Overall, this would be so much heavier for both Red and Chloe than just ending up at Merlin Academy.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense with the way I worded it. My wording keeps coming off like a pov, and that KoH part was 100% just my headcanon. I once again got carried away.

Thank you so much for the ask! I definitely had a lot of thoughts on this.

#my asks #descendants #descendants rise of red #descendants red

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justanothersanjilover · 2 days ago

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One Piece Modern Gym AU Wip (Part 23)

Sanji thought he was going to die on that motorbike. He knew Zoro wouldn’t and couldn’t slow down. But it was frightening nonetheless!

“Next, turn right!” He yelled against the wind and hoped Zoro would understand him.

He actually turned right…and ignored a red light, which led to multiple cars honking at them. Sanji pressed his head against Zoro’s back and closed his eyes. They needed to be faster, he knew that, but he wanted to jump off and never get on a bike again.

“Curly? Which way?!”

Sanji lifted his head at the question and looked over Zoro’s shoulder. They were standing on a crossway.

“Straight ahead and then left. We should see the house by then,” Sanji yelled again and grabbed Zoro tighter as he started to speed down the street again.

“There! It should be the fourth house!” Sanji managed to point in front of them to a grey skyscraper.

Zoro made the best use of the breaks and came to a rumbling hold in front of the house. He kicked the stand down and got off of the bike.

“I’m here, which floor?” He asked over his headphone.

“Right, sixth floor, room 47. Stay were you are! Don’t panic!”

And with that he ran up the stairs and into the building. Sanji hadn’t even time to catch his breath. His legs were wobbly and his whole body shook all over. But he wanted and maybe needed to help Zoro. So he got off the bike, hung the helmet on the handlebars, and followed him as fast as possible.

They met by the stairs - Zoro actually took the time to wait for him.

“Sorry, Curly, for driving like a mad man. I usually don't do that. You okay?” Zoro asked while taking two steps at the same time.

Sanji saw how much Zoro was thorn between waiting for him and running off. That dumbass would really go slow just because he had shaky legs.

“It’s fine. I understand. Go, you don't have to wait for me. I heard the floor and apartment.”

“Thanks!” And off he was.

Zoro made a mental note to make it up to Sanji for bothering him so much. But now he needed to be quick. Perona sounded so fucking scared and he didn't know her like that. Traveling the world, she knew how to stand up for herself. Being trained by their stepdad also helped a lot - even if the training wasn't as hard as his own. So the guy he mentioned must be a lot more difficult than the usual asshole she encountered sometimes.

He opened the door to the fourth floor and walked past the apartments counting in his head.

“43, 44, 45, 46, ...”

At 47 he stopped and started banging against the door. He could hear a man scream from inside and Perona cursing in all colors.

Another hard bang at the door, inside it sounded like another door was busted open, Perona screamed and Zoro saw red. He eyed the door handle, took a step back and thundered his foot a few inches away from the lock against the wood. The door thundered against the wall as it flew open - behind it a short hallway. At the end he could see another open door. From the room behind he heard the screams and curses.

It took the blink of an eye for Zoro to cross the distance. A quick look and he accessed the situation - at least as much as his worried mind would let him. Perona was lying on the bathroom floor, a man kneeling above her, fist raised to punch her.

“You little shit!”

Zoro grabbed the guy by his neck and pulled him up like he weighted nothing. He pressed him against the wall with all his body weight. The man didn't even know what was happening. He tried to free himself as Zoro twisted his arm behind his back and pressed his own forearm against his neck - effectively preventing that asshole from moving in any kind of way.

“Let go, bastard!” The man growled.

“Zoro! Thank god…” Perona squealed and crawled backward, away from both of them.

“Out…” Zoro barked in her direction.

“I…”

“Now!”

“Zoro?” That was Sanji.

“Over here.”

Sanji appeared in the door and looked at the scene in front of him. His eyes threw daggers toward the man struggling in Zoro’s hold. Then he saw Perona and his face softened.

“Sanji, can you take my sister outside, please?” Zoro growled with barely contained anger.

“Sure,” he held a hand out for Perona.

She let him pull her up and walk outside the apartment - she just went with him because Zoro asked him to take her outside. Otherwise she wouldn't really trust him right now.

Zoro waited until they left the apartment and then kicked the bathroom door shut. He guy in his grip started to struggle again.

“Now, what did you want to do to my sister? Hm?” His voice a low grumble in his throat.

“That little bitch…”

Zoro raised his arm until he knew the guy would feel like his shoulder would pop out of its joint. He could hear him whine and whimper and felt the struggle die down.

“Try again.” Zoro’s voice got dangerously quiet.

“I let her crash here for free and then she wasn't even willing to give me a blow…”

Sanji had brought Zoro‘s sister outside and made sure she was okay - a little shaky, but okay. He went back inside just to see the man, Zoro had previously held against the wall, flying (through a broken door) out of he bathroom into the hallway. His nose was bleeding, his lip seemingly split and he had a nasty looking laceration on his forehead. Zoro was standing over him in no time, just to pull him up and throwing him against the next wall. He held him there, whispering something into his ear which made the man tremble like a leave in the wind. Zoro’s whole face was a dangerous mask of anger.

„Do you understand?“ Zoro barked, a hand on the man‘s throat.

„Y…yes…yes…s…sorry…I…“

Zoro let go of him and took a step backward. He watched as the man slid down to the ground. He looked up with fear in his eyes.

“I hope for you, that you’ve understand what will happen if to you if you ever touch my sister or any girl - scratch that - if you touch anyone like that again.”

The man nodded and Zoro turned around, just to see Sanji standing in the entrance. A shocked look on his face. He forced himself to ignore it, but his mind was eased when Sanji smiled at him as they walked outside.

Perona was sitting on the floor beside the broken down door and had her legs pulled up against her chest. Zoro kneeled down in front of her.

“How often do I have to tell you to crash at my place when you’re in town?!” Zoro barked, but his careful hands on her face betrayed the harsh tone of his voice.

“You had a date…I didn't want to be a burden or interrupt something. I…He was nice…”

“Until he wasn't anymore.” Zoro gave her a quick but careful look over.

“I’m sorry…”

He shook his head and turned around.

“Come on…”

The unvoiced offer hanging in the air for a moment.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Zoro,” Perona said, but grinned.

“And I don't offer piggyback rides every day. Get on.”

Perona followed his offer, pressing her head against Zoro’s neck after she was safely seated on his back. Sanji could see how her lip was shaking and how she pinched her eyes shut, like she wanted to stop herself from crying.

“Let’s go,” Zoro had one arm under Perona so she could sit on it - with the other he grabbed Sanji’s hand and pulled him along as he walked to the stairs.

“Is the police getting involved?” Perona asked quitely.

“Do you want them to?” Zoro threw a look over his shoulder.

“No…”

“Then no.”

“But he…”

Zoro barked a dark laugh.

“He won’t do anything.”

“Okay.”

Sanji listened the whole conversation with a strange feeling. It was like he shouldn't be there - like he shouldn't listen to them.

“So…you are Sanji, right?” Zoro’s sister asked as she turned her head toward him.

“Yes. I…”

“Zoro couldn't shut up about you,” she started to kind of whisper but just quiet enough, that Zoro could also hear what she said. “He’s down bad for you.”

Sanji opened his mouth, but Zoro was faster.

“Perona!”

“I’m just saying…also he doesn't look stupid. Bet he already knew.”

“I hoped so…but I wasn't sure,” Sanji smiled down at his and Zoro’s hands.

They fell silent for a moment, then Petrona’s stomach started to grumble. Zoro came to a hold immediately.

“When was the last time you ate?”

She didn't even answer right away. Zoro’s grip on Sanji’s hand tightened as he started to walk again. Sanji was a bit confused, but didn't say anything. When the silence stretched, Perona couldn't take it anymore.

“I…Yesterday morning…”

“We gonna eat something, right now.”

“But…”

“Right now, Perona.” Zoro didn't need to make clear that he wouldn't take no for an answer, his voice did the job quite well.

She sight and nodded, letting her head sink to his shoulder.

“I know a place, just around the corner. We can go there.”

Prev/next

First Part

#one piece #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zosan #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #one piece zosan #zosan fanfic #one piece fanfic #one piece modern gym au #wip #one piece wip #zosan wip #perona #Zoro and Perona are siblings #zoro would care so much about her - try to change my mind #you can't!

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auxmodi · 3 days ago

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knife's kiss ⚔

sandor clegane x enemy reader drabble

summary: enemies but make it knife-to-throat tension in a war-torn tunnel, where he realizes you’re into it and doesn’t let you forget it.

warnings: knife play, enemies, hateful, angst, war, sexual tension,

The tunnels beneath the city were a labyrinth of stone, winding and claustrophobic, the air thick with dampness. You had lost track of how long you'd been down here, the noise of the battle above barely reaching your ears. Your mission was simple: get in, find your target, and finish what had started above ground.

You didn’t expect to encounter him.

The echo of heavy footsteps broke the silence. A shift in the air made the hairs on your neck rise. You'd been trained to sense danger, but this felt different. It wasn’t just another soldier lurking in the shadows.

You turned quickly, your hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at your side. The figure that emerged from the darkness wasn’t unfamiliar. Clegane.

Sandor Clegane. The Hound. The man you had tracked across the battlefield, the man who had become a symbol of everything you despised.

He was a giant of a man, his broad frame almost filling the narrow tunnel. His rough features were obscured by the low light, but you knew his face well. The scarred visage of a man who had seen too much, been through too much.

His eyes glinted with something between annoyance and amusement as they fixed on you.

“Still alive, are you?” His voice was a rough growl, full of hate and something darker. “Shame. Would’ve saved me the trouble.”

You stepped back, your back brushing against the cold stone wall of the tunnel. “I’m not here for you, Clegane,” you said, forcing the words out despite the knot tightening in your stomach. There was no room for hesitation now. “But I’ll finish this if I have to.”

The Hound smirked, an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

His knife gleamed as he unsheathed it with a smooth, practiced motion. It wasn’t a big blade, but it didn’t need to be. There was no telling how much death it had seen, how many men it had claimed.

You kept your stance firm, your own blade drawn but not raised. It was an old game, this. The unspoken dance of two opponents sizing each other up, both knowing that any wrong move could lead to a swift end.

He took a step forward, and you instinctively mirrored it. The sound of his boots scraping against the stone was the only noise in the thick silence between you.

“Don’t waste your time,” Clegane said. “You can’t win this fight.”

You swallowed the bitterness rising in your throat. “We’ll see about that.”

Without warning, he lunged, his movements fast and controlled. You barely had time to react, but you stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade as it swished past you. The air smelled of sweat and blood, thick with the stench of battle that seemed to cling to him.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press the attack. Instead, he circled you like a predator, keeping his distance but never breaking his gaze. You could feel the weight of his attention, like a pressure on your chest.

“You think you’re the only one who’s fought this war?” he said, his voice rough but cutting through the tension. “You think I’m just some brute you can finish off without a second thought?”

“I don’t think anything about you, Clegane.” Your words were sharper now, fueled by a cold rage that surged within you. “You’re just another soldier to kill.”

The tension in the air thickened as he stopped pacing, his stance shifting slightly. His lip curled into a smirk. “Big talk for someone I could snap in half.”

The words should have frightened you, but instead, they only fueled the fire in your chest. “Try it.”

Without warning, he lunged again, this time faster, his knife moving with a deadly precision. You barely had time to react before the blade pressed to your throat, just beneath your jaw. The wall behind you was hard and unyielding, pinning you in place as his body loomed over yours. His free hand gripped your wrist, holding your dagger at bay.

“You like playin’ with knives?” he rumbled, his face inches from yours. “Let’s see how brave you really are.”

The knife didn’t cut, but the pressure was firm, deliberate. You tried to focus on your breathing, tried to suppress the traitorous heat spreading through your cheeks. Your pulse thundered beneath the blade, and you knew he could feel it.

The knife pressed harder, enough to send a sharp thrill down your spine. You should have been terrified, but instead, your pulse betrayed you, quickening for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. His dark eyes flicked to your throat, lingering, then back to your face. His expression shifted, just slightly, enough to make your breath catch.

“What’s this, then?” His voice was quieter now, low and rough, like he was trying to puzzle you out. “You’re not shaking. Should be shaking by now.”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. His smirk deepened, slow and wicked, as realization dawned.

“Seven hells,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. “You like this don't you?”

“Get it over with,” you snapped, but your voice wavered, betraying you. The way your pulse thudded beneath his blade, the way your body refused to retreat even as it should have, it all gave you away.

His knife shifted, dragging along your skin in a deliberate, taunting stroke. “Don’t think I will,” he said, his voice rough and quiet, as though savoring the moment. “What kind of sick little thing enjoys a knife at her throat?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the tremor in your voice only seemed to amuse him more.

He grinned leaning in closer, his nose nearly brushing yours. His scent, blood and dirt, filled your senses, overwhelming. “Afraid I’ll tell the others what a sick little thing you are? Or are you afraid I’ll do more?”

“Get it over with,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. Sandor’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually do it. But instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I could,” he muttered. His words were a promise and a threat all at once. “But where’s the fun in that?”

The knife slid down again, tracing the hollow of your throat, a silent promise of what he could do. “You’re trembling,” he said, though there was no mistaking the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Not from fear, though, is it?"

Above, the rumble of war grew louder, shouts and the clash of steel echoing faintly through the tunnels. The walls trembled slightly, and dust fell from the ceiling.

Sandor’s eyes flicked upward, then back to you. “Lucky you,” he said, his voice rough but quieter now. “I’ve got bigger problems tonight than you.” he muttered, though his voice was rougher now, his breath warm against your skin.

But he didn’t move away.

Instead, his knife left your throat, only for his hand to take its place. His rough, calloused fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Stay alive,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And then he was gone, his massive form swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind only the ghost of his touch and the memory of his blade. You pressed a hand to your throat, your pulse still racing, and cursed yourself for the way your body ached for more.

The war raged on above, but all you could think about was Sandor Clegane, and the dangerous game you were now playing with him.

#knife play #sandor clegane smut #sandor x reader #sandor clegane fanfic #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones x reader #gameofthrones #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #the hound fanfic #sandor the hound clegane #the hound x reader #drabble #sandor clegane drabble

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officerwhitmore · 2 days ago

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Vince tracked every minute shift in Tony’s face with the kind of hyper-focus that only years on the job—and maybe a sick obsession—could have honed. The tension bracketing Tony’s mouth, the flicker of something too sharp and raw in his eyes—it wasn’t just a story unfolding in front of Vince; it was a tragedy. One he’d written with his own hands. His words hung in the air like shards of glass, delicate and jagged, and Tony’s expression cut through them effortlessly, his emotions too visceral to contain. Hurt and fury collided there, so vivid Vince could almost feel it radiating off him, hot and cold in the same unbearable breath. Was he about to punch Vince? Break down? Vince couldn’t tell which would be worse. He clenched his jaw until it ached, his chest twisting tighter with every second that passed.

What Vince wanted—no, needed—was impossible. He wanted to grab Tony and pull him in, tangle his fingers in that wild mess of hair, and kiss him senseless, kiss him until there was no room left for the pain and anger in those dark eyes. He wanted to pour every ounce of whatever the fuck he was feeling into Tony’s mouth until they were both drowning in it, breathless and undone. The ache of knowing he couldn’t made him feel gutted, like someone had reached inside his chest and torn him open, leaving nothing but a hollow, useless mess behind. He couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. The truth of it sat in his throat like lead, impossible to swallow and choking all at once.

When Tony stepped back, his body stiff like he was bracing for impact, Vince froze. His lungs seized, and the cold night air scraped his throat like razor blades. Tony’s steps were heavy, each one dragging him farther away, and it felt like the ground beneath Vince’s feet was splitting open, widening the distance until it became uncrossable. The thought of Tony walking away—just turning his back and leaving—sank claws into Vince’s chest, pulling sharp and deep until he thought he’d choke on the panic rising in his throat.

Then Tony turned, and the relief hit Vince like a gut punch. He exhaled hard, the breath rushing out of him in a visible puff that curled in the cold air, the kind of sound you made when you’d been holding it for too long without realizing. His chest expanded like it had been vacuum-sealed and suddenly released, his ribs struggling to accommodate the movement. But his breathing was all wrong—too fast, too shallow, like his body couldn’t figure out how to regulate itself anymore. Every inhale tasted bitter, sharp with the knowledge that Tony wasn’t gone, not yet—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t leave eventually. And when he did, Vince wasn’t sure there’d be anything left of him to pick up.

But then Tony’s face shifted again, sharper now, and Vince watched it with the kind of horrified fascination you feel when you know you’re about to crash but can’t stop yourself. The way Tony’s expression twisted—his brows pulling tight, his mouth hardening into a grim line—sent a jolt of something raw and cold straight through Vince’s chest. And then there it was: the disgust in Tony’s eyes, bitter and unfiltered, the kind of look that didn’t just cut—it carved, leaving deep grooves Vince didn’t know if he’d ever fill. He didn’t expect it, not this much venom, not directed at him. That anger was almost scary, and Vince hated himself for it. Hated that he even had to fight the urge to flinch when Tony looked at him like that.

But Vince’s years on the job had trained his body to stay steady, his face calm. He knew how to weather the storm—on the outside, at least. Inside, though? Inside, his chest felt like it was folding in on itself, like someone had shoved their hands into his ribcage and started squeezing. There was this tight, desperate knot in his stomach that only grew heavier with every second Tony’s expression stayed the same. All Vince wanted—all he fucking wanted—was for Tony to shove down his stupid pride, swallow his damn stubbornness, and just take the money. That was it. It wasn’t about pity or charity or whatever Tony thought this was. Vince just needed him to be okay. He needed Tony to stay warm this winter, to not freeze his ass off in threadbare scraps while Washington’s brutal cold tore through him like a blade. Was that so much to ask?

Tony didn’t move. He just stared at the money, his gaze hard, almost unreadable, for what felt like forever. Vince held his breath, though his chest burned from the effort. He kept his hand out, steady as stone, but inside, he was anything but still. Every flicker of emotion that crossed Tony’s face hit him like a new wound. The hurt was there, of course it was, barely masked by the tension in his jaw and the way his lips pressed into a thin line, like he was holding something back. Vince wanted to look away, wanted to stop seeing the pain that he’d put there, but he couldn’t. His eyes stayed locked on Tony, helpless and desperate. His free hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into a fist, then relaxing, over and over. He wanted to reach out, to touch him, to drag him into his arms and just fix it. God, he wanted to fix this.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He didn’t trust himself—not with Tony, not with this kind of emotional mess crackling between them. If he reached for Tony now, it wouldn’t be to help him. It would be selfish. It would be something that would make everything worse.

When Tony finally reached out, Vince barely kept his breath from hitching audibly. Tony’s hand moved with precision, careful, like he was dismantling a bomb. Vince watched as Tony took the money, gentle but deliberate, plucking it from his hand like it might burn him if he wasn’t careful. And maybe it did, because he avoided Vince’s eyes completely, staring anywhere but at him. Their fingers didn’t even brush, and Vince knew that wasn’t an accident. That distance was intentional, a wall Tony was putting up brick by brick, and Vince couldn’t blame him for it. But fuck, it still stung like hell.

The moment the money left his hand, Vince sighed, the sound harsh and ragged, like it dragged his soul with it. His chest expanded and collapsed in one intense motion, like the air leaving him had hollowed out his bones, leaving nothing but the shell of a man behind. The relief of Tony taking the money was sharp, but it was laced with something else—frustration, rage, sorrow, all tangled up into a mess he couldn’t even begin to sort out.

And god, the way Tony avoided him, the deliberate lack of contact, made Vince’s insides twist with a fury so potent he thought he might snap. Not at Tony, though. Never at Tony. The anger was directed squarely at himself, at the unbearable weight of the situation he’d created. He stood there, his hand now empty, his heart now aching, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. If he could’ve ripped his own hair out in that moment, he might have. Maybe the pain would’ve distracted him from the overwhelming urge to throw his arms around Tony and kiss him until the rest of the world stopped mattering. Maybe it would’ve distracted him from how desperately he wanted to undo everything he’d just done. But it wouldn’t change a damn thing, and Vince knew it.

When Tony finally met his eyes and said ‘thanks’—and judging by the sheer disgust carved into his expression, that word might as well have been dipped in acid—Vince felt his stomach plummet. The calmness in Tony’s voice wasn’t real. Vince knew that tone too well, had sat across from it countless times in cramped interrogation rooms, watching men with shackled wrists and barely controlled fury bite out their confessions through clenched teeth. It was a sound as sharp as the edge of a knife, laced with a tension so volatile Vince could practically feel it vibrating in the air between them. And that same tone, that same restrained, dangerous energy, laced Tony’s words now. Vince saw it in his shoulders, rigid with barely concealed anger, in the tightness of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like they were holding something back.

It was the kind of tension Vince had always known meant trouble, the kind that signaled a man was standing at the brink, one step away from throwing himself—or someone else—into the fire. And Jesus Christ, it radiated off Tony in waves now, a barely contained fury that felt like it might crack the ground beneath their feet. Vince could see it all: the danger simmering in Tony’s eyes, the promise of what he might do if he finally let himself snap.

And fuck, if that didn’t make Tony look so goddamn good. Sexy, intoxicating, goddamned erotic. Vince’s pulse jumped, heat rising to his face, his chest, his entire body, like a fire had been lit under his skin. That tension, that edge of danger—it was the same thing that had drawn him to Tony from the start, the thing that made his blood hum in ways he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to analyze. Tony looked like he was ready to destroy something, and Vince’s mind betrayed him in the worst fucking way. He didn’t just see the anger in Tony’s jawline or the way his fist clenched tight. He felt it, imagined it, wondered what that strength would feel like if it were turned on him, not in anger but in something darker, something deeper.

His mind spiraled. He imagined Tony’s hands grabbing him roughly, pinning him against the wall, that fury channeled into the kind of raw, heated desire that left bruises and bite marks. He imagined the weight of Tony’s body pressing him down, the scratch of his stubble against Vince’s neck, the way his lips would claim him—no, fucking take him. It was dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that Vince had to swallow hard against the sudden dryness in his throat.

What the hell was wrong with him? Shame clawed at his chest, made him feel weak, disgusting. How could he be thinking this now, when Tony’s words were laced with hurt, when his disgust was palpable enough to choke on? But Vince couldn’t stop. That edge of danger, that promise of violence barely kept in check—it had always been Tony’s most intoxicating trait. It had hooked Vince from the start, made him crave the man even when he knew better, even when he tried to convince himself he could stay away.

But he couldn’t. Not when Tony looked like this, with his anger and his pain written all over him, every line of his body radiating a raw, unfiltered power that Vince wanted to grab hold of and never let go. His chest burned with shame, but it wasn’t enough to snuff out the heat that pooled in his gut, the ache that throbbed in places Vince had no business thinking about right now. God, what the fuck was wrong with him? How could he look at Tony—hurt, furious Tony—and still want him so badly he could hardly fucking breathe?

’Vince, don’t treat me like a pity-fuck, okay?’

The words hit Vince like a blade to the gut, sharp and precise, cutting deeper than he thought possible. Heat flared in his chest, a fiery, volatile mix of indignation and heartbreak that he couldn’t suppress if he tried. The accusation—no, the misunderstanding—was unbearable, igniting something raw in him. “Tony, you were never a goddamn pity—”

But Tony cut him off before he could finish, slamming a wall between them that Vince couldn’t break through, no matter how much he wanted to. His jaw snapped shut, teeth grinding as the echoes of his unfinished sentence hung heavy in the air. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs, each beat a violent reminder of the mess he’d made of this moment. His mind raced, tripping over itself, grasping for some way to explain, to fix it, but nothing came. Every thought dissolved into static, leaving him standing there, raw and vulnerable, his chest hollowed out by the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

When Tony mentioned the blocked number, shame hit Vince like a freight train, sharp and unrelenting. His gaze dropped instantly, fixing on an oil slick shimmering on the gravel as heat flooded his face. The swirling colors blurred as his skin burned red with guilt. He hadn’t thought about how it would feel for Tony—how abrupt, how cold, how cruel it must have seemed. He’d done it for the wrong reasons, trying to preserve his shaky commitment to fixing his marriage, to keep himself from relapsing into the addiction that was Tony. Because that’s what Tony was—an addiction. One more text, one more soft word, and Vince knew he would’ve caved. He’d have been back in Tony’s arms in seconds, ruining everything again.

Vince wrapped his arms around himself, the gesture instinctive, pathetic, protective—like the self-soothing he’d seen from timid abuse victims on his calls, those moments when they clung to themselves as if they might hold their broken pieces together. The thought made his stomach churn, shame rising thick in his throat. He wasn’t the victim here. Tony wasn’t hurting him; Tony was giving him exactly what he deserved, the sharp criticism he’d earned by running headlong into this disaster. This—this ache, this wreckage—was Vince’s doing, and now they were both sinking in the mess he’d made, too far gone to claw their way back to the surface.

Tony’s disgust wasn’t a knife—it was a serrated edge, cutting jagged and deep, twisting as it went. The look in his eyes, the way his mouth hardened around those words, gutted Vince in a way he hadn’t thought possible. The idea that Tony believed he pitied him turned Vince’s stomach, made bile rise in his throat. But could he blame him? Every move Vince had made pointed in that direction. He’d fucked Tony, run out on him, blocked him without explanation, shoved him into the friendzone, and now, here he was, holding out cash like a fucking transaction to make it all go away. Of course Tony would think that. Why wouldn’t he? From where Tony stood, that was all Vince had ever shown him. No tenderness, no real honesty, no proof that Vince cared about anything but his own guilt. And the worst part? Tony was right to think that. Vince had left him nothing else to go on.

But it wasn’t pity. God, it wasn’t fucking pity, and that made it even worse. How the hell was Tony supposed to know that Vince stayed awake some nights thinking about him? Thinking about whether his fridge had food, if his bills were piling up, if he even had heat when the temperature dropped below freezing. How was Tony supposed to know that Vince couldn’t get the image of his empty apartment out of his head—the bare walls, the too-large bed that looked lonelier than Vince had felt in years? How was Tony supposed to see that Vince didn’t pity him, but cared so fucking deeply it scared him? Vince clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms, furious with himself. He’d been too much of a coward to show Tony anything real, and now this was the price. His heart ached as he watched Tony’s anger, his pride, his pain—and Vince couldn’t fix it. He never could. He was a fucking idiot. A goddamn coward.

Tony turned and walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate, each one grinding against Vince's raw nerves. Vince’s lips still burned with the memory of the kiss, and the warmth of Tony’s hand on his jaw lingered like a ghost, taunting him as he watched the man retreat. Every crunch of gravel beneath Tony’s boots felt like a countdown, each step a reminder of everything Vince had fucked up tonight, everything he’d always fuck up. The air seemed sharper, colder, biting at his skin as if to punish him for letting it get to this point. When Tony slammed the car door, the sound cracked through the night like a gunshot, and Vince flinched, his stomach knotting as the noise echoed in his chest. The squeal of tires as Tony tore out of the parking lot left him rooted to the spot, gutted, the chill of the night sinking deeper into his bones.

He stood there, breath puffing into the air in uneven clouds, replaying everything in his mind like a broken reel he couldn’t turn off. The kiss—the way Tony’s lips had felt so fucking good, the way his hand had cradled Vince’s face with such tenderness—now felt like a cruel memory, something warm and fleeting swallowed whole by the icy, impenetrable wall Tony had thrown up between them. This wasn’t love. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t fucking love. Vince repeated it to himself like a mantra, desperate to drown out the hollow ache in his chest, but the words felt weak, insubstantial. Whatever this was, whatever name he was too scared to give it, Tony felt it too. He knew it. He’d seen it in the way Tony kissed him, in the way his expression had twisted with hurt and fury and something Vince couldn’t even begin to parse.

But none of that mattered. Not now. Not when Vince had dragged Tony into his mess only to leave him gutted and furious and goddamn broken. He’d walked into Tony’s life and shattered whatever fragile balance the man had managed to build for himself, and for what? To run away when it got too real? To make promises Vince didn’t even know if he could keep? Vince’s chest tightened, shame and self-loathing coiling tighter around his ribs until it was hard to breathe. Tony deserved better—better than Vince’s selfishness, better than this pathetic excuse for whatever the fuck they’d been trying to build. And Vince? He didn’t deserve Tony at all.

As Tony’s van disappeared down the dark stretch of road, Vince found himself frozen in place, staring after it like some part of him could still call it back. The night had grown colder, sharper, the chill cutting straight through the thin layers of his costume as if it had been waiting for this moment to pounce. He could feel the cold settling into his bones, heavy and inescapable, but it wasn’t just the air—it was the silence. The crushing, hollow silence left in Tony’s wake. Vince’s chest felt tight, his breath hitching as the last faint glimmer of taillights vanished entirely. Slowly, reality began to bleed back in, the harsh glow of the parking lot lights and the crunch of gravel under his boots grounding him, though it only made him feel worse.

He turned back toward the Rogue, his eyes landing on June, still sitting in the passenger seat, her head tilted toward the window. She wasn’t bouncing along to the music anymore, her posture more slouched, as if her energy had drained out somewhere between the first and second repeat of her playlist. The stereo’s faint hum drifted into the night, but even that seemed subdued. Vince exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face, his fingertips brushing his jaw where Tony’s hand had been not long ago. The memory stung, a raw, aching reminder of how much had unraveled in the span of a single conversation.

Each step back to the car felt like wading through quicksand, the weight of his own failure dragging him deeper with every crunch of gravel underfoot. By the time Vince reached the Rogue, his chest was an aching void, his breath catching and stuttering like a broken engine trying to turn over. He opened the door with hands that felt disconnected from the rest of him, sliding into the driver’s seat like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The heater’s warmth rushed over him, a false comfort against the cold that had already seeped into his bones, but it was enough to crack something inside him. He exhaled hard, the sound heavy and raw, sinking back into the seat as his hands dropped into his lap, useless and trembling.

“Daddy? What took so long?” June’s voice broke through the haze, soft and curious, her innocence cutting through Vince’s raw, fractured thoughts. He glanced at her, catching her wide-eyed gaze, and forced a smile that felt brittle, stretched thin over the ache inside him. It was almost unbearable, that effort to pretend, but what else could he give her? She didn’t deserve to see him like this, hollow and unraveling.

Before he could find the words, her brow furrowed, her head tilting slightly. “Is Toto okay?” The question hit him square in the chest, sharp and unexpected. Her concern was pure, untainted by suspicion, and somehow that made it worse. The weight of what she didn’t know pressed down on him, stealing the air from his lungs. He opened his mouth, but his voice caught, snagging on everything he couldn’t say. Explaining even a sliver of the truth felt impossible.

Then her eyes narrowed, her gaze sharp and focused in that way that always meant she’d noticed something. “Wait—what’s on your nose?” she asked, pointing decisively. Vince froze, his stomach plummeting as though the floor had dropped out beneath him. Panic flared, heat rising to his chest as he reached for the rearview mirror with trembling hands. And there it was—a streak of black paint, stark against his skin, dragging him straight back to Tony’s breath on his cheek, Tony’s lips too close, too soft. His heart hammered against his ribs, the memory pounding in time with it.

Without thinking, Vince wiped at the smudge with the sleeve of his robe. The paint transferred immediately, leaving a dark blotch on the fabric. He groaned, sharp and frustrated. “Son of a—” He cut himself off just in time, jaw snapping shut, the curse unfinished. Clenching his teeth, he hissed, “Just great,” under his breath, his words bitter and heavy.

June blinked at him, her expression shifting between confusion and concern. “What happened?” Her voice was light, but her gaze wasn’t—her eyes seemed to dig into him, looking for something he couldn’t afford to show. The weight of her attention pressed against his chest, and Vince felt the cracks inside him widen. No amount of wiping or lying could erase the truth of tonight, the damage he’d done—not to Tony, not to himself.

Vince forced out a chuckle, thin and unconvincing even to his own ears, as he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror. His reflection looked foreign, haunted, the black smudge now a faint streak. “It’s nothing, monkey,” he said, his voice strained but steady. “Just… I noticed something off with Toto’s van when we were talking. Had to pop the hood and fix it. Must’ve scratched my nose on something greasy.” The lie tasted bitter as it left his mouth, but the truth would have tasted worse.

June’s eyes widened slightly, her head tilting in that way that always meant she was piecing something together. “Is Toto’s car gonna make it home?” she asked, her tone teetering between curiosity and concern. The question landed like a weight on Vince’s chest, making his next breath feel too thick to take. He hesitated, the silence stretching as the image of Tony’s van filled his mind.

“Yeah,” Vince said finally, his voice quieter now, softer. “It’ll make it. He’ll be fine.” But the words felt hollow, like paper stretched too thin over the truth. He wasn’t sure if they were meant to reassure her or himself.

June studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing in that thoughtful way she got when she was trying to say something important but wasn’t sure how. “You look sad, Daddy,” she said, her voice quieter now, tentative. “Is it because…” Her words faltered, her teeth catching on her bottom lip as her gaze flickered toward the window. “Because Toto is…”

The pause lingered like a live wire, charged with everything she’d noticed but didn’t know how to say. Vince’s chest tightened painfully as his mind filled in the blanks—Tony’s thin, worn-out flannel that barely held off the cold, his scuffed boots, the blue jean patch on its left elbow, the defeated groan of his car as it pulled out of the lot. She’d seen all of it, had pieced it together in her own quiet, observant way, and Vince hated that she had to. He nodded, saving her from the effort of finishing her thought. “Yeah,” he said simply, his voice low and heavy. “That’s why.” It was only part of the truth, but it sat between them like a weight neither of them could lift.

She looked down at her lap, her small fingers twisting in the hem of her Leia dress. “He’s really sweet,” she murmured. “And good to us. He deserves… I dunno. Something better.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she glanced up at him with a somber expression. “I’m glad we can be his friends.”

The words hit Vince like a punch to the gut, sharp and unrelenting. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “Me too, monkey.” he managed, though his voice was rough around the edges, barely holding together. He couldn’t say anything else. The weight of her simple, heartfelt observation was too much. Reaching up, he flicked off the interior light, letting the shadows fill the cabin as he shifted the car into gear.

The drive home was short, but it stretched endlessly in Vince’s mind. June’s playlist shifted again, and when the opening notes of ‘Safe and Sound’ filtered through the speakers, Vince felt his stomach drop. He didn’t know if she’d picked it intentionally or if it was just an accident, but the haunting melody wrapped around him, the lyrics slicing into his chest like razors.

‘Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire.’

The song was devastating, each line dragging him deeper into the mess of his own mind. The words echoed the raw, unspoken ache he couldn’t voice, the weight of Tony’s pain and the memory of that kiss pressing down on him like a boulder he couldn’t move. June’s quiet commentary on their day faded into the background, her voice distant and blurred, overtaken by the haunting melody and Vince’s own spiraling thoughts. All he could think about was Tony—his face, his voice, the way Vince had destroyed him with nothing more than a handful of poorly chosen words. By the time they pulled into the driveway, the car was silent, the last notes of the song lingering like a ghost in the air.

’Hold on to this lullaby even when the music’s gone.’

The house swallowed them in its oppressive silence, the familiar creak of the door and the soft thump of Skeletor’s tail against the hardwood only underscoring how lifeless it all felt. Vince moved like a ghost, turning on lights and locking doors with a mechanical detachment, every movement stripped of meaning. The warmth of the house should’ve been a relief after the cold, but it only pressed heavier on his chest, suffocating in its stillness. When June disappeared upstairs into the bathroom in her room, her soft hum barely audible beneath the rush of water, Vince escaped to his own shower, closing the door as though it could block out the weight of the night. The second the water hit his skin, scorching and relentless, the dam broke, and he collapsed against the tiled wall, his chest heaving with silent sobs. The heat bit into him, raw and unforgiving, but he let it; he wanted it to sear away the ache in his chest, the shame coiled tight around his ribs, the unbearable knowledge that he’d destroyed something he never should’ve touched.

When Vince stepped out of the bathroom, the steam clinging to his skin felt like a second layer, heavier than the one he’d tried to scrub away. June was perched on the computer chair in her room, her small form barely filling the seat, her damp curls framing her face like a halo. The air smelled of her raspberry shampoo, the scent almost painfully sweet against the ache in his chest. She didn’t give him a chance to speak, just stood and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him with a quiet strength that brought him to the brink of breaking all over again. “It’s okay to be sad,” she murmured, her voice steady, calm. Too calm. “But Toto’s gonna be okay.”

The words shattered something in him. He pressed his hand gently to the back of her head, fingers sinking into her damp hair as he swallowed the lump in his throat. How the hell did she always know what to say? “I know, monkey,” he managed, his voice a rough, uneven thing that betrayed how far from okay he really was. He looked down at her, her earnest, open face, and the depth of her love hit him like a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t have to be this way—her love shouldn’t be the thing keeping him tethered to the world tonight, but it was. She was. The thought of her waking up to find him gone, searching for him and finding only the empty shell he’d left behind, was unbearable. He couldn’t do that to her. Not ever. Not even if he never saw—or held, or kissed, or laughed with—Tony again.

“I love you, Junie,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of it. He scratched his fingers gently through her curls, the gesture as much for his own comfort as hers. “You know that, right? You know how much, baby girl?” His words were low and thick with emotion, his chest tightening as he fought to keep himself together.

She looked up at him with a smile that was small but so achingly pure it nearly undid him. “I know, Daddy,” she said softly, her voice full of a quiet certainty that felt like it could light up the darkest parts of him. “I love you too.” Her love was relentless, unshakable, a force so powerful it both anchored him and ripped him apart. She was everything—his reason, his heart, the only thing standing between him and the dark void he felt himself slipping toward tonight.

Vince blinked hard, willing the tears threatening to spill to stay put, and scooped her up before they could betray him. “Alright, monkey,” he said, injecting as much playfulness into his tone as he could muster. He hoisted her into the air, eliciting a squeal of laughter before plopping her onto the bed with a flourish. “Time for sleep,” he teased, though the words felt foreign on his tongue. She giggled, her joy cutting through the heaviness in the room like a faint beam of light. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, tucking her in with a tenderness that felt almost sacred. But as he turned off the lights and pulled the door closed behind him, the mask crumbled. He slumped against the wall outside her room, the weight of the night crashing over him again, relentless and all-consuming, as if her love had held it back for just long enough to get him through her door.

As Vince pushed himself off the wall and trudged down the hallway toward his bedroom, the exhaustion hit him like a freight train, his legs heavy and his mind even heavier. Once inside, he didn’t bother with the light. The room was bathed in a faint, silvery glow from the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, soft and cold against the stark white comforter on the bed. It made the space feel quiet in a way that wasn’t comforting but hollow, like stepping into the aftermath of something. Vince let out a sigh that sounded like it had been torn from somewhere deep, his chest heaving with the effort.

His fingers moved automatically, undoing the belt of the blue robe he’d worn all evening—Tony’s face, Tony’s goddamn lips, still seared into his memory like a brand. The fabric slid from his shoulders with a soft whisper, pooling around his feet as he stood there for a moment, his shadow stretching faintly across the floor in the moonlight. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, and for a fleeting second, he thought about leaving the robe where it was, wrapping it around himself again and crawling into bed like he could shield himself from the night. But no. Instead, he stepped out of the puddle of fabric and let it lie there, forgotten.

That left him in nothing but his boxer briefs—the ones June had picked out for him last Christmas, laughing so hard when she handed them over that she’d barely gotten the words ’They’re meme boxers!’ out before dissolving into giggles. Spongebob stared back at him from the waistband, wearing that deadpan, ‘aight I’mma head out’ face, TV remote in hand. It was ridiculous, absurd—and yet, as he caught his reflection in the floor-length wall mirror, the sight almost made his throat close up. It was one of those stupid little things that somehow brought him comfort while simultaneously making him feel like a joke. He shook his head, muttering, “Fucking idiot,” under his breath, and crawled into bed, pulling the soft, plush comforter up over his shoulders.

It was warm—too warm—but Vince didn’t have the energy to kick it off. He flopped onto his stomach, sinking into the mattress like he was trying to disappear into it, his face pressed sideways into the pillow. The ridiculousness of the Spongebob boxers under the heavy comforter didn’t escape him, but it only added to the mess of emotions swirling in his chest.

The screen of Vince’s phone cast a faint, bluish glow over the dark room, the only light in the suffocating silence. He lay sprawled on his stomach, his head tilted to the side on a pillow that had grown uncomfortably warm beneath him. His jaw ached from being propped there for so long, but he didn’t bother to shift. He didn’t deserve to be comfortable. Not tonight. The tear tracks lining his face had dried over the last ten minutes, but his eyes still burned, still threatened to overflow again at any moment. The phone in his hand felt heavier than it should, as if all the weight of his guilt and failure had sunk into the device.

Tony’s name stared back at him from the top of the screen. The chat thread was painfully short, the last few messages stark reminders of what little there had been between them to begin with. Vince had unblocked the number an hour ago, an impulsive, masochistic decision he couldn’t bring himself to reverse. What the hell had Tony tried to send him after he’d shut him out? The thought made his stomach twist, but he couldn’t let himself imagine it for too long. It hurt too much. He hated himself for wanting to know, hated himself more for not having the courage to find out.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, the small letters a blur through his bleary vision. He typed one-handed, the other arm pinned beneath his cheek. The words spilled out in fits and starts, too raw and unfiltered to stop once they started.

‘Tony, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry feels like a fucking joke coming from me, but I am. I’m sorry for being such a goddamn mess, for dragging you into my bullshit when you deserve so much better. You’ve been more patient with me than I ever deserved, and I should’ve done things differently. I should’ve been better to you, for you. I don’t even know how to fix this, if I even can. Really, I don’t know if I even should.’

The blinking cursor mocked him, daring him to hit send. Vince stared at the words, his chest tightening, tears slipping down his face again despite his best effort to keep them at bay. He couldn’t send this. He couldn’t give Tony this much of himself—not like this. Vulnerable. Pathetic. If Tony thought he was weak now, what would he think of this? His thumb trembled as he hovered over the screen, the message glaring back at him like a raw wound. He watched the words disappear, letter by letter, until the screen was blank again. The emptiness stared back at him, reflecting the hollow ache in his chest.

His breathing hitched, shuddering as he let out a harsh, uneven sigh. Vince pressed his face into the pillow for a moment, the fabric muffling the sound of his frustration as his fingers clenched around the phone. He deserved this—the emptiness, the regret, the aching loneliness that came with knowing he’d burned one of the few good things in his life to ashes. His jaw throbbed where it pressed against the pillow’s edge, but he didn’t move. He welcomed the discomfort, let it sit with him as punishment for his cowardice.

But he couldn’t leave it like this. He couldn’t leave Tony hanging in the silence, no matter how much he wanted to run and never look back. It was late—11:31 PM—but he didn’t care. He’d already ruined Tony’s night; what was one more selfish decision? Vince’s fingers moved again, this time crafting something lighthearted, something so absurd it felt like it couldn’t possibly come from the same shattered man lying in the dark. It was a lie, every word of it, but maybe it could make Tony smile. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it would make everything worse.

Vince’s thumb trembled as it hovered over the button, his pulse a frantic drumbeat in his ears. The room felt too still, too quiet, as if the universe itself were holding its breath, waiting for him to make a move. His jaw clenched, his body tensed like he was about to step off a cliff.

And then, with a sharp inhale and a pang of self-loathing, he hit send.

The message disappeared from the screen, replaced by a timestamp and the suffocating weight of anticipation.

Then he sent another one. And another one. Again and again and again.

Hey, Tony. I just wanted to let you know that it was really good to see you. June really seemed to like you, too. She gushed about you the whole drive home. But still, there's a question I've had on my mind from the moment we ran into you... What are your thoughts on Kyle's Pikachu onesie? I'm conflicted.

Vince stared at the blue-lit screen, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and throat, shallow and uneven, like his body wasn’t sure how to function under the weight of what he’d just done. The seconds felt like hours, each one a knife dragging slowly across his chest, and then it happened: that tiny, traitorous read receipt popped up beneath the message. ‘Seen at 11:33 PM.’ His heart stuttered, a jagged, painful beat, his pulse roaring in his ears like the crashing of waves. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t think. The room seemed to shrink around him, the glow of the screen the only thing tethering him to the present, though it offered no comfort—only proof that Tony had seen his words. Seen him.

He stared at the screen like it might burst into flames, the silence pressing down on him with unbearable weight. The seconds dragged on, cruel and merciless, and Vince watched the thread like a man watching his own execution. He willed the typing bubbles to appear, pleaded with the universe for just three little dots, but they didn’t come. The thread stayed empty, glaringly, suffocatingly empty. Vince’s thumb twitched, desperate to tap the screen, refresh it, do something to force the silence to end, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. His chest tightened, each passing second a reminder that Tony wasn’t answering. Maybe he never would.

By the time three minutes had passed, the dam inside him shattered. Vince’s chest twisted, his breath breaking into jagged pieces, and the tears he thought he’d burned through hours ago began to rise again, hot and insistent. His vision blurred, the screen swimming before him, and he only realized he’d been biting his lip when the sharp sting of it broke through the haze. The metallic tang of blood bloomed on his tongue, sharp and bitter, and he let out a ragged, choked, “Fuck.” The word came out like a curse and a confession all at once, his voice low and trembling with the weight of it. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough to drown out the silence Tony had left him with.

Frustration surged like a fire through his chest, hot and uncontrollable. Before he could think better of it, Vince grabbed the phone and hurled it across the room, the motion sharp and desperate. The device flew through the moonlit air, the rubber case catching on the edge of the nightstand before it hit the hardwood floor with a heavy, final thunk. It tumbled once, twice, before coming to a stop, facedown and silent. Vince didn’t move to check it. He knew it wasn’t broken—he wasn’t that lucky. Instead, he dropped his face into the pillow, the muffled sobs ripping through him, shaking the bed as his body curled in on itself. It wasn’t just Tony’s silence; it was the absence of everything Vince had destroyed in his life—the warmth, the safety, the connection. And all he could do was cry into the void, as empty and hollow as the room around him.

His mind turned traitor, dragging him into places he swore he wouldn’t go. The tears came, bitter and scorching, as if trying to cleanse the need clawing at him, but they did nothing—nothing to dull the ache or quiet the cruel, relentless craving that Tony had left behind. It wasn’t just absence he felt; it was longing, raw and unfiltered, seeping into every nerve, every thought. The memory of Tony’s hand on his jaw consumed him, the weight of it grounding him in a way that felt too intimate, too necessary. He could still feel the warmth of Tony’s palm, the way his thumb had brushed the edge of his cheek with the kind of rough tenderness Vince hadn’t realized he was starving for. It haunted him now, that touch, the safety and desire wrapped up in it, and the void it left was cavernous, unbearable.

His breathing came in shallow, jagged bursts as the sobs quieted, replaced by something darker, something heavier. The ache in his chest twisted lower, spiraling down into places he didn’t want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. The memory shifted, became more vivid—Tony’s fingers trailing down his neck, the calloused pads of his thumbs tracing his collarbone, the heat of his breath against Vince’s ear as his lips brushed too close. Vince’s body tensed, a shiver rolling through him, his skin too hot despite the chill in the air. He could imagine the strength in Tony’s grip, the weight of his body pressing him down, holding him in place, and it was devastating how much he wanted it. His hips moved against the mattress without permission, the sharp friction stealing the air from his lungs. He gasped, his throat raw, his body betraying him completely.

“Stop,” he rasped into the pillow, his voice hoarse and trembling, but the word tasted hollow, a lie he didn’t have the strength to believe. His fingers curled into the fabric beneath him, desperate for an anchor, for something real, but all he could feel was the heat pooling low in his stomach, spreading through him like wildfire. Shame twisted in his chest, hot and choking, but it wasn’t enough to extinguish the unbearable need. His body moved of its own accord, the ache in him building, sharpening, consuming everything else. He bit down on the edge of the pillow to muffle the low, guttural sound that escaped him, his breaths ragged and uneven.

The darkness of the room felt like it was closing in, wrapping around him as his mind gave in completely to the memory of Tony. Tony’s mouth on his, demanding and unrelenting. Tony’s hands gripping his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, harder. The phantom weight of Tony’s body pressed against his own was suffocating in the most exquisite way, filling the empty spaces Vince couldn’t bear to face. His breaths grew heavier, each one dragging him deeper into the spiral of lust and despair and craving until it was all he could feel. His jaw ached from how tightly he’d clenched it, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. Tony wasn’t there with him, but in his mind—god, in his mind—he was everywhere. On top of him, inside him, hard, hot cock rocking into him with slow, aching thrusts, plunging deeper, deeper, until Vince was filled so full, he was more Tony than he was himself.

Yet at the same time, as he rocked his cock hard against the memory foam mattress, leaking more with every twitch and throb, Vincent imagined Tony’s thick, hard thighs bracketing his waist as he devastated him with heavy thrusts; imagined breaking away from a hot, sloppy kiss just to watch his expression change as he bottomed out inside him. Vincent would fist his fingers in that warm, dark hair and breathlessly tell him how precious and beautiful he was until Tony lost all capacity to ever doubt his motives again — until he knew how much Vince valued him, how he thought about him every day, how he couldn’t go ten minutes without imagining the taste of his lips, the scent of his hair, the thick heat of his cock turning him into a drooling mess. Jesus fucking Christ the man was magic.

It was with two fingers pressed hard against his tongue that Vincent forced his hips against the mattress one last time — clinging to the image of driving himself into Tony’s tight, slick heat — and moaned high and reedy, cock pulsing hard and hot and wet as every muscle in his body went stiff as fresh bone. It must've lasted hours. It must've lasted fucking decades. It was the best he'd had since he came undone in Tony's tight, hot fist.

With a sharp, hard gasp, Vince finally, finally crumpled against the mattress, his body trembling with the remnants of pleasure that felt too close to pain, every jagged breath clawing its way up his throat. His fingers, slick and trembling, slipped from his lips with a wet sound that made his stomach churn, and he buried his face into the pillow as though he could smother himself beneath it. The sob that broke out of him was raw, guttural, a sound torn from the deepest part of him, one he couldn’t stifle no matter how hard he bit into the fabric. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the fabric beneath him, and the aftershocks of pleasure wracking his body only made the devastation sharper, the shame heavier. He couldn’t stop the flood of emotions, couldn’t claw his way out of the wreckage his own mind had created. His stomach twisted with the sheer agony of it, his thoughts circling back to Tony like a wound he couldn’t stop pressing on.

Images of Tony invaded his mind, unbidden and relentless, flashing across his consciousness with searing, unforgiving clarity. Not just his hand, not just his lips—no, this time it was the way Tony caged him against the counter that first afternoon, his shirt stretching tight across broad shoulders, voice rough in his ear, murmuring things Vince couldn’t unhear even now. The way he’d reached out, hand settling on the small of Vince’s back just lightly enough to make his pulse jump. Or the way he’d smelled—shampoo and soap, and so distinctly Tony—when he’d leaned in close enough for Vince to feel the heat of him, the dangerous pull of his presence, the way the world had tilted on its axis like gravity had shifted to center entirely around him. Vince felt that heat now, curling low in his stomach, spreading through his chest like it was trying to fill the hollow ache Tony had left behind. Those memories burned like fresh coals, searing him with what he’d lost, what he’d destroyed.

“It’s not love,” he whispered into the pillow, the words muffled and thick with tears. “It’s not love, it’s not love, it’s not—” His voice cracked, and the next word came out in a strangled sob. “—fucking love.” He bit down on the edge of the pillow again, his teeth sinking into the fabric as his body shook with the force of his grief, as though trying to contain it might stop it from swallowing him whole.

But the lie rang hollow. Because the only other person who’d ever made him feel this way—the only other person whose absence had carved this kind of ache into his chest—was Stella. He’d felt this same raw, consuming pain for her once, back when he’d thought she was perfect, when he’d looked at her and believed that she was the answer to all the emptiness inside him. And if that hadn’t been love—if what he’d felt for her on their wedding day, in those fleeting moments of bliss when they’d been happy, hadn’t been love—then he had never loved anyone at all.

His throat constricted, tight and aching, as he tore at the thought like a man clawing at a locked door, desperate to force it shut before it could consume him. He wouldn’t name it. He couldn’t. Giving it a name would make it real, give it teeth, and he wasn’t sure he could survive being chewed apart by it. It wasn’t love—couldn’t be. Love wasn’t supposed to destroy you from the inside out, leaving you gasping in the dark, your chest cracked open like some grotesque exhibit. Love didn’t cling to your ribs like this, didn’t gnaw at your sanity, didn’t leave you feeling like a hollow, bleeding thing. No, whatever this was, it wasn’t love. But the denial felt paper-thin, unable to hold back the rising tide of truth pressing against it.

He rolled onto his back, the motion sluggish, his limbs heavy with exhaustion that refused to pull him under. The ceiling stared back at him, unmoving and indifferent, the faint shadows cast by the moonlight shifting as the hours dragged on. The silence in the room was oppressive, a void that amplified every thought, every aching breath, every humiliating beat of his heart. His chest still hurt, raw and bruised from the force of his sobs, and his breaths came shallow and slow, as if too much air might shatter what little was left of him. He didn’t expect sleep to come; he didn’t even try. He just lay there, staring into the nothingness, his body limp but his mind spinning, every nerve raw, every thought circling back to the same unbearable truth he refused to admit.

Time stood still when Vince curled his fingers around his hand, but didn’t pull it away. It wasn’t the gesture of someone who wanted it to end, but wanted to hold on tight and never let it stop. The way Vince melted into him and deepened the kiss made his heart flutter in his chest. Maybe Vince wanted this too, just as much as he did. He regretted the human body’s need for oxygen as it felt like the only reason that he broke the kiss.

Vince’s gasp jolted him back into the present and out of the spot of warm happiness he found himself in. A little daydream he allowed himself: Vince’s arms wrapped around him tightly, face nuzzled into his neck, the rest of the world fallen away until there was nothing but Vince’s voice telling him everything would be okay and that he was forgiven. Reality was harsher. Colder, down to his bones and soul. No understanding, no truth, no forgiveness to be found here. Just his own little empire of lies and a man he couldn’t have who darted his eyes around the parking lot like he’d been caught red-handed in a crime.

Shamefully, he hadn’t even been thinking about June or the idea the kid could possibly spot them kissing. He felt guilty and shitty for it - of course her father did think about these things, while he only thought about what he wanted. Typical. It was hard to let go, though, and he found his arm and hand were frozen in place. He swore if he moved his hand away it ran the risk of being the last time.

Tony wasn’t sure what he expected Vince to do or say. Surely it had to be some kind of understanding, right? Some sort of acknowledgment that he wanted this too even if he didn’t know what this was or what it was leading to. An agreement that this felt right, that it was something. Right? It had to be. It had to be because if it wasn’t he wouldn’t know what to do with himself afterwards. Vince had occupied nearly every waking moment of his life for this long - what was there left if that was taken away?

’I want us to stay friends.’

Tony barely heard the rest of what Vince said. No, that wasn’t true - he heard and understood it just fine - it was just that the rest of the words didn’t matter, not with how they paled in comparison to the first thing Vince said.

It felt like a blow to the stomach, knocking all the air out of him and leaving him with an acute pain in the chest. If he wasn’t in such good shape, he’d worry it was a heart attack. Hell, maybe it was. He’d be okay with that, at this point. It’d get him out of having to face tomorrow. So would walking into traffic.

The response should not have been a surprise, yet somehow it was. He just… He hadn’t expected… This, whatever this was. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. How could someone who kisses him back like that not want more of it? That happy hum in his chest that fluttered from their kiss turned to acid. Something recoiled in him, wanting to run away and hide itself in a dark corner and hiss at anything that approached.

His wife. Of course. So he’d gotten this wrong from the get-go. It wasn’t a marriage already ruined beyond repair or one he’d already given up on for good. Vince wasn’t on the way out with one foot out the door. He was just window-shopping. Bored. Looking for easy dick to entertain himself until… until what, wifey came around again? Took the stick out of her ass and decided to give it another good ol’ college try? Was this the first time, or was this a pattern? How many others were there before him that got strung along until that bitch grabbed Vince by the short and curlies and made demands? And why make the excuse that this was for June’s sake? He remembered clearly how uncomfortable the three of them looked that day in the diner. He wasn’t one to tell people how to parent, but he couldn’t honestly say the kid looked thrilled to be with her mom.

’... being your friend instead of your…’

His good boy? His… lover? His… his… he wasn’t even sure. Not that it mattered now because Vince was not going to be his anything other than just some local buddy that might occasionally stroll in for a meal with his family, or he might see at the store now and again if Vince worked late. He was not going to be the man that cried in his lap, that moaned his name, that put his hands everywhere on him, that let himself unravel in his hands. Was he even the man that left him the little origami crane as if to say ’I’ll be back around again, don’t forget me’?

Shocked enough by Vince’s words he had forgotten they were still holding hands. When Vince let him go, he let go as well in the same motion, taking his hands back as if he’d been burned. Rubbing his neck as he took a deep breath, Tony took a step back as well, turning and taking a few steps away. Standing still felt hard when his mind was racing and his chest was full of all kinds of things he didn’t know how to sort out. Sure as hell he didn’t know how to sort it all out freezing his ass off in a parking lot at night.

He flexed his hands, trying to get warmth to return to them instead of stiffness. His face hurt from the cold, which only reminded him he had this absolutely stupid costume makeup still on. Somehow that made it only worse.

He got friendzoned while dressed up as a werewolf for Halloween. Fake fur and all. That was going to be Vince’s parting memory of him. Upset doggie-face. He didn’t know if he felt like laughing or crying or screaming at the cold, starless sky.

“I’m not going to tell you to fuck off.” Tony muttered, feeling like he’d been kicked twice in a row, as he turned back to Vince. He was about to give him all sorts of shit for that and for everything when Vince held out the money to him.

Tony furrowed his brows at how Vince admitted it broke his heart to see him suffering like this. He wanted to bite back at that statement - he had all kinds of comments he could make about that stupid fucking statement - but he kept his mouth shut. The sight of the bills in Vince’s hand brought that acid back.

Vince was right, he did need a jacket. He was freezing his ass off. Come winter, unless the program finally stepped up and fulfilled his request for a higher weekly stipend or something, he’d be wearing layers and still getting frostbite. He’d be lucky if he got to spring with all fingers and toes. The nearest Goodwill didn’t have anything in his size, everything far too small and short for his large frame, which felt embarrassing. The one clothing donation center he found online was a worse experience - either he missed it on the website or it was a secret everyone but him knew, but when he showed up he was given some uncomfortable looks by the staff and told that they only had clothes for women and children. They didn’t quite say he was unwelcome, but that they didn’t think they had what he needed. He excused himself as quickly as he could from that place.

So, Vince was right, and he couldn’t afford to not take the money, and he’d be stupid to turn it down… but he was still pissed off and his pride was wounded. Whatever little of it was left. Tony accepted the money, gently plucking it from Vince’s hand - careful to make sure their fingers didn’t accidentally brush even once in the process. He didn’t count it, merely stuck it in his back pocket as he frowned down at the ground.

Finally raising his eyes, he furrowed his brows at Vince, frowning deeply. It made the little crow’s feet at his eyes and his laugh lines look deeper, his face older and more worn, to look like this. “Thanks. I’m taking it because I do actually need a coat, yeah, but…” He faltered, not sure how to say this without Vince thinking his next step was going to be decking him.

“Vince, don’t treat me like I’m a pity-fuck, okay? We can work on being friends - if you unblock my number, don’t think I wouldn’t notice - but I really can’t handle pity from anyone. If shit sucks, that’s on me, and I am dealing with it. Just like you’re dealing with your own.” He felt the emotional walls go up, the portcullis gate slam shut, and the locks click into place with those words. There wasn’t an us or our problems. There was your problems, and my problems. Separate.

Turning away from Vince before giving the man a chance to say anything, because there wasn’t anything left to say, Tony headed to his car which thankfully was not too far away. He walked faster this time, not trudging, but there was definitely no pep in his step. He had to get the hell out of here, away from Vince, away from people, before he did or said anything stupid. Tossing the bag of leftovers into the passenger seat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and slammed them into the ignition with a twist. The engine puttered to life, and Tony backed up out of his parking spot in a hurry and rumbled out of the parking lot. When the road out was clear in both directions, he sped out fast enough to make his tires squeal. He did not give a fuck then and there if Vince was a cop. Let him just try to give him shit for his driving this time.

~*~*~

The apartment was dark and not warm enough when Tony got home. He flicked on the light switch nearest the door with the hand that held his keys and the bag of leftovers. In his other hand, he carried a six-pack of beer. He didn’t spend his jacket money on that - he was careful not to - but instead dipped into the rest of the bills in his wallet. It was not a planned purchase but fuck it. He didn’t care if he ate three meals a day or not.

He stowed the six-pack and leftovers in the fridge and flung his keys onto the kitchen counter before heading into the bathroom. He stripped down and turned on the shower, turning up the hot water until it was almost too hot to handle. He had to get this Goddamn costume makeup off. He hated it. Something about it made him unreasonably angry.

Maybe he was just angry at everything.

He scrubbed and scrubbed, sticking his head out the curtain once to peer at himself in the half-fogged mirror to make sure it was coming off alright before diving in again. Once it was off and he was thoroughly scrubbed and shampoo’d and rinsed, he still stood there under the stream of water, heart heavy, letting the water go lukewarm.

He felt like a damn fool for thinking he could have someone.

Stopping the water before it got cold, because God knew he couldn’t handle being cold again, Tony finally stepped out, toweled off, and put on some sweatpants for bed. Socks and a long-sleeve shirt too, because he couldn’t shake the feeling that the cold was never going away.

A tension headache was building at his temples, so he rummaged through the junk on his dresser to find the store-brand bottle of cheap ibuprofen. He found it, shaking two out, intentionally doing his best to avoid looking at the origami crane in the mason jar he still had in his room.

Pills in hand, he headed for the kitchen, deciding he’d wash them down with a beer or six before bed. He swallowed them down, standing in front of the closed refrigerator as he stared at a rudimentary grocery list stuck to the fridge’s front with a magnet he snitched from Drifter's.

Maybe the grocery fairy will visit.

“FUCKER!” Tony roared as he turned and slammed his fist against the wall nearest the refrigerator. The skin over his knuckles split, leaving the wall dented and speckled with red in his wake. He’d been pitied this whole time, hadn’t he? Was Vince just being a gentleman and trying to meet him halfway, or did he become this cop’s charity case (that he happened to get good dick out of)?

He was angry, yes, and that was the easiest to show outwardly. He knew how to display anger. He’d been doing it for years - real or a show, he knew how to let people know he was pissed off and not kidding around. These fists had punched more than walls. Admittedly, neither walls nor bone had a lot of give to them. But he stuck to anger because it was so much easier to show than heartbreak, even if he had more of that than the former.

Flexing his now-injured hand, not caring that his knuckles were bloody, Tony took a long swig of his beer and dropped himself into his couch. He landed first in the spot where he and Vince had sat - where Vince had been in his lap, where he’d held him - but unable to tolerate sitting in that same spot, he got up and moved to the other end of the couch. That just made him think of the night he was stretched out, phone in hand, texting with Vince.

With an annoyed grunt, Tony stood back up and paced down the hall. He didn’t know what to do with himself and, lacking any better idea, he put his back to the wall and slid down to the floor onto his ass. Once seated, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and took in a deep shuddering breath - ignoring the tears that ran down his cheeks.

#Cedar Point #Pinecrest Plaza #I knew you were trouble #Fright Fest #anthony castile

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